Dreamwatch of Time: A Life Unlived
by WitheringSage
Summary: What if Raja had survived childbirth, and she and Tristan raised their baby together?
1. Introduction

**Dreamwatch of Time: A Life Unlived**

_And dreams in their development have breath, _

_And tears, and tortures, and the touch of joy; _

_They have a weight upon our waking thoughts, _

_They take a weight from off our waking toils, _

_They do divide our being._

_-Lord Byron_


	2. Beginning of a Dream

**Beginning of a Dream  
**

Chronology: Tristan is 26. Raja is 16.

"Tristan," Raja said his name firmly, getting his full attention.

He looked at his pregnant wife, indulging her with his attention. His hands were on the sides of her round tummy, where his small son or daughter lay in a cocoon of warmth. Seven months with child. Birth would be soon...unless, she miscarried before then. Tristan thought – is that what Ardeth said? The deceased Egyptian had also told him there was only a small chance of conception. Well, that small chance had taken form.

Raja put her hands on either side of tense face, forcing him to focus his gaze on hers. "I know you are worried, but you have to relax. You will have a full head of gray hair before our child is born if you keep this up." She smiled gently at him.

"I don't like leaving you while you're close to birth, Raja," he said.

"Oh, Trissy," she grinned, tilting her head to the side. "You've been like this every time you've had to leave. Besides, Vanora and Thea are here for me."

_Yeah, and thank the gods for them,_ he thought. Tristan had never been much for unsolicited advice, but once Raja had conceived, he was silently grateful for Thea's outspokenness. He didn't even have to ask for any information, she just gave, and he had a feeling that she was partly going easy on him. It was as if she could read minds – knowing it was not easy for him to ask for help.

"And," she said, tugging softly on his longest braid, "you know Horus could find you easily with a notice."

Tristan sighed. Nothing could completely alleviate his anxiety. Right on time, the other knights filed into the stables to equip themselves; smirking at the perpetual musings of worry that Tristan was no doubt conversing with Raja about. The scout was already ready, as he was always the first one to be.

Odin sauntered over to Raja, dipping his head down her small mound of child, as if he were checking on the growth as well.

"See," Tristan spoke, "even Odin is afflicted."

"No," she disagreed. "He's being affectionate. We needn't anymore distress, you've used it all up."

He snorted.

"Ah," Bors' gruff voice sounded, "Vanora and Thea are taking damned good care of Raja, Tristan."

Lancelot came over, tipping his head down at the unborn. "And don't you dare come out unless we're here." He had rather grown a soft spot for the child who had yet to come into the world. He'd never been much for children, especially babies, but this one was special to him. Not only was it Raja's, but it carried the blood of his family.

When the men were all ready to go – Tristan in physical contact until he had to saddle up – Vanora and Raja were there to wave them farewell. Horus cawed, perched on Raja's arm. Penelo was in the air, flying overhead as the horses' hooves pounded through the mud.

--

Tristan's apt attention was focused on his scouting and tracking, his mind temporarily off Raja's pregnancy. But once they camped, during the intervals of his break in keeping watch, sure enough his mind went back to her. As the other knights bantered around the campfire, he was sharpening his sword and daggers, thinking.

When he knew Raja was first with child, his heart leapt to his throat. They had spoken of aborting, they knew the chances of miscarrying, and the high chance of mortality if she were to give birth. She knew the chances, too, but nothing was ever decided. When she received a notice that her Uncle Ardeth had perished when his ship was attacked, her world shattered. After that, Tristan couldn't bear to bring up the discussion of the state of her pregnancy. Many times he had started to, but she had just lost her uncle, could he ask her to deliberately cease the growth of their child? The child that they had made together in acts of physical love? So the months had gone on, Raja beginning to show.

Her morning sickness was light, and mostly she was just extremely tired and achy. As she grew larger, gods she became more beautiful by the day. Tristan wanted her to do everything Thea and Vanora ordered her to do, and rather, to his surprise, she complied. She never tried to get out of bed in rebellion. She knew of her fragile health and his height of worry, and also went along with every command to ease him.

Tristan did everything Thea suggested, even the "just-in-case" things. He always made sure there were snacks available, as Raja became hungry very often in the beginning. He massaged her legs and ankles, made sure her feet were propped up comfortably. She tried to tell him that he needn't fuss, but he shot her a look and she quieted. Besides, he found he rather liked attending to her so diligently. And as simply the woman she was, when he arrived back to the fort after outings, she would tend to him as she always did. Because she was pregnant, _he_ tried to tell _her_ that she didn't have to, but then _she_ shot _him_ a look, and he quieted. He made sure he always accompanied her on her leisurely walks. And when he couldn't, he was damned near floored when Lancelot picked it up, becoming just as concentrated on Raja as he was. Since Raja was younger, they had always had a kind of an unspoken "solidarity" behaviorism when it came to looking after her.

During the increasing months, it was winter, the season which was always the hardest on her. Because of the vigilance of her state, she remained inside a lot, the braziers always flaring. Most of her light exercising was done in the stables, walking next to Odin. However, Raja did become feverous, low ones, but fevers nonetheless. Her emotions fluctuated; sometimes she was very quiet, reading, or writing in her journal, staring out the window. But when her increased want for sex kicked in, Tristan was wary, not wanting to hurt the baby. He remembered that particular situation.

"Is it because I'm fat?" she asked him.

His eyebrows popped up. It wasn't that at all. In fact, she was smaller than most pregnant women he had seen. She needed to gain weight. Not to mention, he had an increased desire for her, too. She looked a goddess – as she always did to him – carrying their child. "No, Raja. I don't want to hurt the baby." He really didn't want to take any chances.

"You won't, Tristan. Couples make love all the time when the woman is pregnant. From behind, or on the side, the woman on top. And I know you want to as well. I feel your hardness poking me constantly." She said this with a wily smirk. "I asked Thea and Vanora, and Vanora said that she and Bors often made love when she was pregnant."

Although he could have done without the knowledge of Bors coupling with a woman, he was still hesitant...even as they spoke and he stared at her, he felt himself hardening. Oh he gave in...and it was...wonderful. He relished making love to her like that. One hand flat on her stomach, one arm around the silky flesh of her voluptuous breasts. He would reach out to her in the night, and in the morning. They lay on their sides; he would spread her legs with his knee, sweet lapping waves of tender thrusts as he held her close. He loved bathing with her, the warm water encasing them, she between his legs, her back resting against him, as he used his fingers to pleasure her. Raja would pleasure him with her mouth. Such intimacy.

At night, or during the day while she took her rests, he would run his hand over her belly, sometimes putting his head gently on it. He would always kiss the mound lovingly. And the first time he had felt his child kick. It was truly alive and thriving inside of his Raja. A big smile spread on his face, his cheeks tightening the smile was so wide. The word: Father. Father. Father. It echoed in his mind, it was daunting, frightening, and exhilarating.

Tristan didn't even care when the men ribbed him for his complete change in attitude. He was still savage and cold in battle – the lethality would never leave him - but his utter rapture with the impending birth gave him another glow of light.

"...thinking about fatherhood..." Bors said.

Tristan's attention shifted to the talk around him. The men were all staring at him. "I doubt you all would be taking it lightly," he censured.

"Damn right," Bors agreed.

"You were out of your mind," Gawain said to Bors.

"Ah, you wait till you have some of your own," Bors retorted gruffly.

"I'll make sure mine aren't bastards," Gawain joked.

Bors waved him off. "You want a boy or girl, Tris?"

A slight smirk lifted one side of his mouth. "Doesn't matter."

"If it's a girl you'd scare all the men off when she's grown, and if it's a boy he'll be playing with daggers before he's even a year old," Galahad said.

"And he'll be better with the dagger than you," Tristan quipped.

The men laughed heartily.

Lancelot said airily: "Just try to not have as many as Bors. There's only one of me, and I can't play the favorite uncle to more than one."

Tristan knew Lancelot was joking, but he hid the narrowing of his eyes under his unkempt bangs. Raja's body couldn't take another pregnancy...could hardly take this one.

Lancelot seemed to notice his gaff and tacked on with prideful vanity: "Besides, beauty runs in the family, and good looks can cause trouble."

To this, Tristan chuckled with the rest of them.

"What does Raja want?" Dagonet asked.

"Boy," Tristan replied.

"Don't most women want girls?" Galahad said.

"It is Raja we're talking about, Galahad," Arthur joined in.

They talked for a while more, remembering incidents of Bors's fatherhood, poking fun at one another. Tristan left them to take watch of the area. The humor had taken away his ill bodings for a bit. Now, he only wanted to get back to Raja.

--

Raja coughed a bit too sharply, looked at the white cloth she had held to her mouth – no blood. Good.

Vanora came into the room with a mug of hot tea and handed it to the bed ridden woman. "Thank you, Vanora," she said, accepting the mug. Two days after Tristan had left; the late winter air had seeped into Raja's lungs despite all the precautions she had taken. She had been so careful all through the thick winter, making sure she kept herself warm and did not venture out into the blistering cold. It was the end of March now, the snow was melted, but it drizzled or rained constantly.

"How are you feeling?" Vanora asked, sitting on the side of the bed next to Raja.

"Better," she replied, taking a sip of tea. "I would prefer it if Tristan didn't know about this. I really do not want to worry him more."

She nodded. "I understand."

Raja cleared her throat. "Would it be too much of a hassle to put me in another room when I give birth?"

"Not at all. Why?"

She paused. "Just in case...I die." There. She said it. "I do not want Tristan to enter this room and remember that I died in here."

Vanora's brow creased in sympathy. "We're going to take good care of you, Raja. You will not die."

The Egyptian woman gave a small smile. No one had spoken of the possibility, but Raja knew it was running through all of their minds. Every time she coughed. Every time she became light headed, too tired, slept too much or too little. Raja had remained positive, especially with Tristan. He was consumed with it, always underneath the surface of his care. She could not show her doubts as well. Pangs of guilt and sadness hit her each time the thought of dying came to her. She was not afraid of dying, but rather what she would be leaving behind. How would Tristan cope? Her death would break him surely as his death would break her. And the baby? What if the baby lived and she did not? Raja knew the thoughts in his mind. She knew he felt bad about them. He would look at the living child and think: You are here. And Raja is not. I would trade your life for hers.

_I made it this far_, she thought, _I will not die, and I will not lose this baby. I will not leave Trissy behind._

Raja rested for the next few days, and was still a bit wan when the men returned. She was sitting in front of the fire reading when Tristan came in. She smiled at him.

"You are pale," were his first words. "What happened? Are you sick?" He walked right over and felt her forehead.

"Nothing, Tristan," she chided gently, taking his hand away and kissing his cold knuckles. "A bit of cold in the lungs."

His jaw clenched.

"I would rather you give me a hug and kiss, Trissy," she said.

Tristan's body eased just a bit. She stood up and kissed him lovingly, their arms wrapped around one another. Later that night, as they slept, or, as Raja slept, Tristan laid awake, hand on her stomach or gently caressing her face.

"Don't you dare leave me," he whispered. _Don't leave me._

--

Three weeks before she was to give birth, she bled. Just a little, but blood nonetheless. If it weren't for Thea's vast knowledge of birth, Tristan would not have believed her when she told him that a bit of spotting happened to some women. When Raja had false contractions, Thea told him that that happened as well.

Raja had told Tristan she was going to move to another room for the birth. Everything was set up in there, so as they waited, Tristan and she occupied that room. He knew why. It was that "just-in-case." Just in case she died, she did not want to die in the room, in the bed, that they had held each other, made love, kissed and caressed on. The same bed they had first made love on. She took short walks now, and was mostly abed during the time. When Lancelot came to sit with her for a spell, she uttered the words that she had been putting off for as long as she could.

"Will you do something for me, Lottie?" she asked, taking his hand.

He could tell by the tone of her voice that she was not going to ask him for anything trite. "Of course."

"If I die," – Lancelot winced at her bluntness – "will you watch out for Tristan?"

Lancelot, always the one to accept death as it was, the pessimistic one, a bit of a fatalist could not quite grasp the possibility of her not being here.

"Please, Lancelot. He...Tristan will really need someone. The two of you..." Raja noticed Lancelot's daze. "Lottie, look at me, please."

He turned his dark brown eyes on her, holding back tears that were getting close. She squeezed his hand tighter.

"I know the two of you always had this silent agreement when it came to watching over me, much closer than either of you would like to admit."

"You're not dying, Raja," Lancelot said hoarsely, a bit sharper than he had intended.

"I know. But I also know that there is a chance."

"Yeah, well, you damned well better live, because things won't work right without you here." He tried for a light tone, a jest, but he meant every word.

"I will do my best," she told him.

"I'll hold you to that, cousin."

--

Tristan paced in the hall. Lancelot and Bors stood stiffly, the other men were waiting elsewhere for any news. Inside the bedroom, they could hear Raja's keening sounds of stress as she tried to bring the baby into the world. Every now and again a sharp cry would sound from her mouth; it was a lash to Tristan's body. For the most part, she was trying to suppress her screams.

Thea, Vanora and another woman – whom Tristan was reluctant to let anywhere near Raja as he did not know her – were inside.

Tristan winced when another yell came from the room.

"Why don't they ever come out and tell anyone anything," Tristan growled to himself. "Three fucking hours." The man's usual repose became non-existent the second Raja's water broke.

Lancelot swallowed heavily. He'd have liked to pace and curse with Tristan, but holding himself against the wall as calmly as he could was proving to be work enough.

"When you look at your babe, you'll forget all about this," Bors said.

Tristan's pacing didn't miss a beat as he let out a gust of wry bemusement. His heart pounded, he was sweating under his coat. Another quarter of an hour went by before he heard Raja cry out for him. He snapped to, not giving a second's thought to the fact that the women had told him to stay outside. The door opened abruptly, and he was kneeling by Raja, her hand clamped in his. Tristan cut any opposition from the women with a stern, you'll-have-to-kill-me-and-haul-my-corpse-out-of-here-to-get-me-to-leave look.

He took the proffered cool wash cloth from the unnamed woman and dabbed the perspiration from Raja's face.

"Sorry," she said, "I didn't want to be alone." She bit her lip when she pushed again as instructed.

"I'm always here, Raja," he soothed. _Don't you dare leave me._

It all happened in slow motion. Thea's voice was warbled as she told Raja to push one more time.

"I need you here," he said in her ear.

Her body became lax as she felt their child slip fully from her body. "I'm...always here, Trissy." But her face was pale, her eyes unfocused.

From somewhere, a baby cried. Raja kept her eyes open, breathing, holding to her mortality.

"It's a boy!" one of them announced.

Tristan accepted a blanket-clad baby, its large brown eyes looking right at him as if it knew exactly whose arms were holding him. His face was scrunched, red as he cried. And with his child in his arms, he looked at Raja, and she was smiling at him – at them.

In the hall, Lancelot stopped the unnamed woman as she bustled down the hall. "What's wrong?" he asked, noticing her ruffled expression.

"Towels," she said.

"_More?"_

"She just had a baby," she said, looking at him as he should have known that towels were paramount during a birth.

Lancelot wiped his own sheen of sweat from his forehead and stood in the doorway. Despite the few people it seemed utterly crowded.

"It's a boy. Go see the baby and then off with you," Thea told him, not unkindly.

Raja was holding the baby now.

"I knew this baby wouldn't be ugly," Lancelot said. "Most are, of course."

"A name?" Bors asked.

"Something not a number," Lancelot commented.

"Ardeth," Tristan said.

--

Raja was granted a warm bath, clean clothes. Tristan carried her back to their room where their baby lay in his cradle.

"You come get me anytime if you need anything," Thea said before leaving the new parents.

Raja was spent. Carefully, Tristan put Ardeth into her arms, the fact that he was a father was...ineffable. He sat rapt as Raja breastfed for the first time. Alternating his stare between Raja's face and his son. It was a new feeling for her, too. She would have liked to place the baby in his crib, but she knew she needed to rest, and would probably be convalescing for the next few days.

As it was, it was another nine days before she even had enough strength to take a few steps by herself. So soon after becoming a mother, she already felt like a neglectful one because she could not get up when Ardeth cried. But happiness could not stop itself from overwhelming her when she saw Tristan holding their son. So gentle, and loving. His face glowed.

When Tristan went out for a few hours, Lancelot sat in a chair next to her bed as she held Ardeth.

"Do you want to hold him?" she asked.

By the look on his face she might as well have asked him if he wanted to stick his hand in a vat of horse shit. He was completely flustered. But with some coaxing he awkwardly, but carefully, accepted the bundle that was his second-cousin by blood. An extension of family.

"Tristan refused to have him circumcised," Raja said.

His eyes popped. "And thank the gods for that!"

--

At sunset, Raja was napping, so Tristan took his son to sit with him in front of the fire.

"You and I haven't had a chance to have a talk," Tristan said. "By now you know that I'm your father, and the beautiful woman in that bed over there is your mother. I've never been a father before, so if I make a mistake...don't hate me."

Ardeth gurgled.

"I can promise you I'll try to be the best father I can. I won't lie to you, though, if it weren't for your mother, you wouldn't want me for a father. I'm no good without her. Maybe you might understand that if you ever fall in love. Don't think your old man is a softy because I said that, because it takes a man to admit something like that. And any man that can't is a damned coward."

The baby let out a gurgle, his lips spreading in something akin to a lopsided smile. Tristan continued to speak quietly to him.

In the bed, Raja opened her eyes and smiled.

--

It was the middle of the night when Ardeth began to wail. Raja started to get up but Tristan told her to stay put. He lifted the small figure out of the cradle which was placed at the foot of the bed.

"Shh, shh," Tristan whispered. "What do you want so late in night, hmm?" He kissed Ardeth on the forehead. "Hungry, I bet."

Raja was sitting up in the bed. Tristan gave Ardeth to her, and when she pulled down the strap of her chemise, the baby immediately clamped on to feed.

"Never this one," Raja said, referring to her left breast.

Tristan sidled closer so his arm was around Raja and his other hand could hold onto his son's small one. The baby's fingers instinctively closed around Tristan's finger, and the father grinned from ear to ear.

"He's going to be strong like you," she said.

"This is a grip strong enough to hold the hilt of a sword," Tristan said.

Raja laughed. "Only a month old and you talk of him holding a sword."

He chuckled. "Should we concentrate on something that will happen sooner?"

"Like what?"

"Like hunting." He smiled conspiratorially.

"No. Not my son. No hunting."

"Raja, every man hunts."

"Well," she scoffed. "You can set up ready-made targets for practice."

"Hmm-mmm," he replied, kissing her on her head.

When Ardeth was full, Tristan burped him, the baby lulled into sleep. When he got back into bed, Raja grimaced at the fullness of her other breast. She wiped the drip of milk from her breast and was about to wipe it off, but Tristan held her wrist and licked it off of her finger.

"Have you tasted this?" he asked her.

"Yes."

"It's sweet."

"I need to get rid of the rest of this," she said, ready to get out of bed.

Tristan pulled her back. "Let me."

Raja slowly relaxed against the bed as Tristan tenderly began to suckle her full breast. His hand gently kneaded the flesh as the liquid saturated his mouth. It sent quivers down her body. She ran the tips of her fingers up and down the back of his neck lazily as the pressure released.

Tristan stopped and licked his lips. He looked up at her.

She smiled at him. "Don't stop if you want more," she spoke quietly. "Take as much as you want. It feels good."

So he did. To him, it tasted wonderful. She tasted wonderful. He drank the sustenance she gave him, the nurture. He drank the fluid that was like life to him. She gave him everything, and more.

When he was finished, she pulled her strap back up, and captured his lips. She wanted to give him the pleasure he had just given her. During the later months of her pregnancy they had not made love.

"Too soon," he said breathlessly against her mouth.

"I want to give to you, Tristan," she said.

"Raja," he told her, consumed with love for her, "if you gave me any more, I'd have the world."

When they kissed again, and his hand slid up the velvet skin of her thigh, and into her core, she thought: _I could have missed this._

Her flutter of her climax gripped Tristan as he felt her shudders run through her. "I love you, Raja."

He watched her fall asleep. His Raja in his arms, his son in his cradle.

5/27/07


	3. The Three of Us

**The Three of Us**

Chronology: Tristan is 26. Raja is 16. Ardeth is 3 months.

"No," Tristan said firmly.

But Ardeth's chubby hand had a firm grip around his father's longest braid – he tugged.

Tristan couldn't help but be slightly amused, but his son seemed to be over preoccupied with _Baba's_ hair. A baritone rumble came from his throat in warning. Ardeth stopped and stared at his father abruptly, the man's rumble having distracted him.

"Yeah, that's it," Tristan said, "just let go of the braid."

Ardeth just cooed and gurgled – and gave the braid another tug, waving his arm in the process which pulled the hair even more. He smiled wide as if it were a game.

"Dammit," Tristan hissed. He held onto his son's hand, trying to pry his fingers off one by one. When the baby's hand was free, his face crumpled and turned red. A hitch of impending sobs sounded. "Dammit," Tristan repeated. "Fine, take the damn thing." A small smirk spread on his face though. His son was instantly joyous and giggly as he played with the braid freely once again.

Raja walked into the bedroom and laughed. Tristan looked at her sternly, which made her laugh harder. "And you say _I'm_ too easy on him."

"He doesn't pull your hair," Tristan grumbled.

Raja gave him a kiss, and went to give her son one as well, but a hideous odor flooded the room. Tristan scrunched his nose.

"How often do babies shit?"

"Trissy, you are lucky he cannot quite understand you. Do you want his first word to a profane one?"

Raja took Ardeth from his arms and walked over to the changing table. A clean cloth was set over the table, a rolled up towel under Ardeth's head. Raja began to change his sodden diaper with expert efficiency. Tristan watched carefully as she stripped the soiled cloth and tossed it into a bucket to be washed. She cleaned him with the products set on the table. A wet cloth with a very mild astringent. Then a white powder that was lightly scented with lilac to prevent rash. A fresh cloth was then pinned to Ardeth's bum.

Tristan, who had yet to change his son's diapers said, "I want to change him next time."

Raja's eyes popped open in surprise. "Well...all right," she said smiling, but flustered.

"What?"

"I cannot think of any instance when a father wanted to get anywhere near a smelly baby."

"Just because Bors complains about baby shit, doesn't mean I will."

Raja laughed. "Of course."

Tristan was a more diligent father than most. He didn't discern between "women's work" when it came to their child. He liked to help give his son baths, and carry him around whenever possible. One thing he couldn't quite do was make tiny clothes for him as Raja did. Even with the new addition to their family, Raja even still tended to Tristan as she always did.

And Tristan was damned relieved that he had yet had to leave anywhere since Ardeth was born. He could tell that Raja was still recovering from nine months of holding the baby and the hours of labor. Probably, other women jumped back faster, but Raja had always been somewhat of a slow healer. But Tristan reveled in her being a mother and wife, admired how she took such care of their son and him.

He was glad for the fact that she did not have to work. Even though Raja had her own money, an inheritance, Tristan still felt it his right to provide for wife and child.

Tristan went and opened the window to air out the room. Then he lit some incense that Raja always let smoke in the room once in a while.

Ardeth went for Raja's covered breast. "Oh, all right," she said, nuzzling his head. She sat down in the armchair in front of the fire and let down her chemise, Ardeth instantly latching onto her nipple. Tristan took the armchair and watched as she breastfed. At night, after Ardeth usually fed, Tristan would take what his son hadn't. It had become an intimate routine for Raja and him. A few weeks ago, they had made love for the first time in months. Slow and gentle.

They moved Ardeth's crib a little ways away, waiting until he was asleep. And when he napped during the day, mother and father also had time to engage in making love as well.

After Tristan finished his training on some days, Raja would lay Ardeth on a blanket as she washed Tristan's back and hair. And if the baby was awake later, Tristan would hold him as Raja untangled and braided his hair. Quiet times with the three of them were some of the best times. Tristan sitting up against the pillows with Ardeth lying on his back in the crook of his arm as Raja sat crossed legged in front of Tristan's feet, taking care of his sores. Sometimes they would talk; other times just sit in silence.

When Ardeth was done feeding, Tristan took him to burp him. The baby dozed and was placed in his bed to sleep. Raja and Tristan made love and lay together as the sun set.

5/30/07


	4. The Truth of My Perception

**The Truth of My Perception**

Chronology: Tristan is 27. Raja is 17. Ardeth is 9 months.

Raja couldn't sleep for the past week. Tristan had been gone for thirteen days, and while she was adept at taking care of Ardeth's needs now, sometimes a deep seeded fear would come over her when she would wake in the middle of the night, sweat coating her body from a night terror. Images of THEM were clouding her vision. And she would think for a fleeting moment: How can I protect my child when, at times, I cannot even seem to protect myself?

It was mid-December and while there was little snow on the ground, the weather was frigid and sharp. She tried to keep her health as stable as possible, but a month ago she had come down with a horrible fever, so terrible and high that she was delusional. She was too weak to pick up her child, and she tried to get well as fast as possible. And how embarrassing it was for her to wake up screaming from a nightmare, waking her child with her screams to which he began to add his to. Raja would pull herself together with as much will as possible and scramble up to comfort her child.

She was the adult, she had to protect her child. She would hold her child with quivering arms, Tristan gently coaxing her to sit down to ease her trembling limbs. Raja could barely look at him, her shame consuming her. He felt her woe and stroked her cheek lovingly. He tried to tell her it was all right, but it wasn't.

"I'm the parent, Tristan," she would whisper adamantly to him, trying not to cry.

"You can't help the demons that haunt you Raja. A child won't make them go away," he told her. "This doesn't make you any less of a mother."

Now, Raja read by candlelight, listening to the soft, content breathing of her little Ardeth. He was already quite the precocious baby. He would sit rapt whenever someone spoke, idly explaining anything to him even though he could not quite understand their words. Ardeth responded to their voices and simply commands. His father was already taking him to the armory, pointing out all the different weapons and their specific uses.

Ardeth wanted to touch and examine everything, and had a habit of sticking his fingers in any crevice he could. His Uncle Lancelot was easy holding him now, and often got a finger in his ear or nostril, to which he would laugh good-naturedly. When he had begun to crawl, Tristan and Raja had been elated. Tristan had been there for Ardeth's first cautious steps, and now their baby was rapidly coming to control his motor skills more efficiently. Bors would joke that now the agony would start – trying to catch up with the child.

The baby stirred and Raja got up and looked into his crib. He looked up at her with big eyes, and gurgled a smile at her. She picked him up, and he rested his forehead against her cheek. She placed soft kisses on his baby skin. Looking at him as time passed, she knew he would resemble his father greatly. He definitely would have Tristan's chiseled cheekbones. He had her raven-black hair, and it would be wavy.

"Your _baba_ should be back in just a few days," she told Ardeth.

Ardeth crooned hearing "_baba_."

Three days later Tristan and the rest of the knights arrived. He gave Raja a big, deep kiss, then Ardeth reached his hands out to his father.

"I could swear our son grew while I was gone," he said proudly.

Ardeth laughed and tugged on one of his father's braids. After Tristan bathed, he held Ardeth while Raja took care of his hair and aching feet, wrapping them in warm cloths over the soothing balm.

Tristan had asked how she was earlier, but she waved it off with a smile. He asked again, seeing the somewhat off look in her eyes.

"Did you sleep, Raja?"

"A bit," she replied.

As time had gone by, Tristan's worry was less when he had to go out. It was just something time had allowed him to do, but he was always elated to see his Raja and child when he returned, a large lump of happiness would grow inside of him. Raja still was haunted by her demons, and he comforted her as he always did. Never impatient, never angry. He knew she felt herself a failure as a protector to Ardeth, and he always reassured that she was the best mother any child could ask for – and he meant it.

That night, they made voraciously passionate love that lasted hours.

7/19/07


	5. The Hunt

**The Hunt**

Chronology: Tristan is 29. Raja is 19. Ardeth is 3.

Little Ardeth had painted his face with mud for the occasion. It was his first official hunt. He had marks on his cheeks like his father, and his glossy black hair had the same braids as him as well. The young boy insisted that his hair be the same length as his father's, so it was cut jaggedly to match, but his mother always made sure it was clean and untangled.

"We have to be quiet," Tristan whispered to his son.

Ardeth nodded with serious concentration. It made his father smile. His boy was smart, a fast learner, and he couldn't be more proud of him. While he taught Ardeth of weapons and hunting, Raja saw to his academic education. He could speak Sarmatian well, and also was coming along with Arabic. Ardeth often interchanged both languages in the same sentence. In the next few years, he wouldn't be surprised if his son added Latin to that list as well.

"There," Ardeth said in an exaggerated quiet tone. He pointed at the plump hair.

"You want to try this one?"

Ardeth's big, golden eyes shot wide open in surprise. Then he smiled, some teeth missing, with glee.

"Okay, remember what I told you," Tristan said.

Ardeth moved into a good position and drew back his small bow. Quiet as a ghost, the arrow whooshed through the air – a clean kill.

"I did it!" Ardeth screamed in triumph.

Tristan laughed, it was okay to yell now that the prey was dead.

"I did it _Baba_!" Ardeth said again, arms raised in the air.

"You did," Tristan said proudly, swinging his son up in his arms.

The hare was collected and skinned, Tristan set up a campfire while Ardeth collected twigs. They roasted the meat and ate in companionable father and son silence. When they were finished, Tristan snuffed out the flames. Each put their bows and quivers across their backs. Ardeth sat in front of Tristan on Dyne, the boy was still a bit too small to have his own pony.

When they got back to the fort, Raja was in the stables tending to Odin. She helped Ardeth down from the saddle and he clung to her in happiness.

"Guess what, _Walida_!" he preened.

"What, love?" She kissed him on the cheek.

"I gotted my first hare!"

Raja paused and shot the briefest of glances at Tristan who turned away and tended to his mount.

"_Walida_?" Ardeth asked uncertainly.

She cleared her throat. It wouldn't do to scold her son. He had done nothing wrong. She'd never hunted in her life, not for real animals anyway. Her Uncle Ardeth had set up wooden targets, always of the mind that she should at least have the know how just in case.

Raja smiled. "You're proving to be an expert marksman like your _baba_."

Ardeth beamed. Being compared to his father in any way could have him grinning for days.

"Can I go tell Uncle Lancelot?" Ardeth said, already squirming in her loving arms.

"Go on, now," she said, giving him one last kiss before he sped from the stables. "Straight to your uncle!" she called after him.

When he was completely out of sight, Raja pivoted sharply to face her husband. He stared at her innocently.

"How could you?" she hissed.

"Raja..." He looked at her with warning, even though he knew he was in for it. "He had to learn sometime."

"You didn't even speak to me about it first!"

"I've been instructing him for a while now."

"But with wooden targets!" she retorted. She ran her hands through her silky black hair, hands on her half cocked hips.

Tristan thought she looked exquisite when she was all huffed up like that, her curves accentuated in her present stance.

"Don't look at me like that, Tristan" she reprimanded, knowing the thoughts that were flittering through his head. "You are not getting away with this."

Tristan put down Dyne's grooming brush and stood in front of his wife. When she did not move, he took that as a good sign. He dared a caress on her cheek which she accepted.

"He had to learn. And he treated the death well, saying that little prayer you always do over any animals' graves."

Raja sighed and went into Tristan's warm embrace. "Well, I meant what I said. He is becoming as adept as you." She looked into his golden eyes, the same eyes that she saw when she looked into her son's. "You are such a wonderful father, Trissy."

"I wouldn't be half the father I am if it weren't for you, Raja," he said, his forehead pressed against hers. "I wouldn't even be half the man."

7/20/07


	6. Somewhere

**Somewhere**

Chronology: Tristan is 31. Lancelot is 29. Raja is 21. Ardeth is 5.

Lancelot watched as Tristan got himself drunk for the fourth time this week. It had been near three months since Raja had been captured by Woads and Tristan's behavior and appearance had deteriorated. Not even his son, Ardeth, could bring him out of the dark hole he was in. Lancelot had been devastated when his cousin was taken; often tearing up in the privacy of his room. All of the knights had searched fervently for her, but to no avail. If ever Lancelot or Tristan got their hands on one of their blue enemies, they were interrogated relentlessly.

Naturally, Tristan searched the hardest. He would disappear for days without leave, hoping that Raja would just appear, for once as a scout he felt useless, a failure. Sometimes he would just go sit at their place in the woods, hoping she would just show up, or be there.

Tristan brushed off another wench who tried to proposition him. His hair was stringy and greasy, his clothes filthy. He had aged passed his years in the interim, more grays mixed with his dark brown locks, the wrinkles around his eyes were deeper, he had lost weight. How many jugs of ale had he downed tonight? He didn't know. All he wanted was to drown the pain and sorrow of Raja's absence. Dimly, he thought of his little son, scared and confused, but he couldn't bring himself to raise himself from his seat and his cups to comfort him.

Lancelot sighed and stood up, exchanging a grim glance with Dagonet. The two of them had been the ones keeping Tristan as straight as possible. Raja had always asked Lancelot, if anything happened to her, to watch out for Tristan. The two knights approached the scout cautiously, not wanting to appear as if they were ganging up on him.

"Tristan," Lancelot said as congenially as possible, "maybe that's enough for tonight."

A pair of golden eyes, rimmed with red, shot at the man who spoke. "Mind your own."

Lancelot bit back any remarks. He knew the pain the man was feeling, but he dared not tell Tristan that, because he already knew what he would say. To Tristan, no one felt the agony he felt. Raja was his soul, his everything, without her, he was nothing. How could anyone else's pain compare? Even...his son's.

"Please," Dagonet chimed in. "Ardeth needs you."

Tristan slammed his cup down. "Do not throw my son in my face." It only made him feel guilty, he knew he should be comforting his little boy, but he couldn't even comfort himself. He had no words for the small boy. Even Lancelot was more of a help to the boy.

Then, as if summoned, Tristan heard the forlorn voice of his son.

"_Baba_?" Ardeth stood there, wide golden eyes looking at his lost father.

Tristan could only stare blankly at him, Ardeth was so far away. Often he would hear him cry every night for his mother, screaming in the middle of the night. For days and weeks he had asked his _baba_ where _Walida_ was until Tristan just snapped that he didn't know.

When the father didn't answer, Lancelot took charge; no good would come of this father and son exchange.

"Hey," Lancelot approached Ardeth when Tristan turned his head around, "come on. You shouldn't be out here. Way passed your bedtime." He smiled at his blood kin, the only he had save Raja.

Ardeth looked up at his Uncle Lancelot and raised his arms. Lancelot instantly swung him up, putting a large, soothing hand on the boy's back whose head was buried in his shoulder. A lump rose in his throat, remembering how he would often carry Raja like this when she was younger, so small she had been. Lancelot nodded at Dag and strolled out of the tavern, away from the smell of sweat and ale. Ardeth clung to him like a vise.

"Will _Baba_ come tuck me in tonight?" he asked hopefully.

Lancelot doubted that. As gently as possible he answered, "I don't think so, Ardeth."

The boy sniffed, used to the fact that his father seemed to longer be with him. "When will _Walida_ come back?"

Oh, gods, that question killed him. He squeezed his eyes shut, holding back the tears. "I wish I knew," he whispered. "I really wish I knew."

"Can I sleep with you tonight, Uncle Lancelot?"

"Of course." Ardeth had often been a company to him for many nights in a row, the older man foregoing any company of women. When they got to his room, Lancelot took off Ardeth's small boots and tucked him into his bed. Lancelot situated himself to ready himself for sleep, then slipped into the large bed next to his nephew, somewhat of a surrogate son.

Ardeth curled up in a ball and moved closer to his protector. "Will you tell me a bedtime story?"

Lancelot smiled in the dark, and started to recite the story of the small boy and the dragon that helped him find his way home – the same bedtime story he had often told Raja.

--

Dagonet had finally gotten Tristan to his room, where the man instantly fell onto the bed he'd once shared with Raja. He didn't bother to light the fire, shooing Dagonet away, wanting to be left alone. He stared up at the ceiling, his arm reached out to the empty space beside him. Briefly, he wondered where Ardeth was, then remembered Lancelot taking him away. The father knew his son was safe.

When Raja had first disappeared, he had all the hope in the world that she would be found, just as she had been found when she'd been taken by Woads when she was nine. She had not been found so easily. The elder Ardeth had been here, the leader, Raja's ultimate protector.

Tristan fell into a fitful sleep, dreams of Raja in his mind.

--

Tristan shaped up over the next few days, as he often would after a drunken binge. He washed and shaved, donned clean clothes, spent more time with his son, trying for a semblance of normalcy. He could tell his son reveled in his attentions, missing all the time they had usually spent together. It was hard to go on like this, without Raja, as if she were never coming back, which she most likely would not.

Tristan took Ardeth hunting, practiced his archery and sword skills with a wood scimitar. A miniature replica of his father's sword. By now, Ardeth was old enough for a pony, and named the dark brown animal Ra, the forename of his great-uncle's Arabian horse.

They trotted quietly through the woods, spring was just emerging, the flowers were blooming.

"Look, _Baba_!" Ardeth said with a big smile on his face. "Fresh daisies! Can I pick some?"

Tristan managed a small snort of amusement. His mother had gotten the boy into that. He remembered the snippy, good natured argument they had had about that.

"Boys do not pick flowers, Raja!" he had said obstinately. Then he had looked at his son sitting in front of the fire with a basket of daisies, making daisy chains. But Raja had only smiled fondly at her son.

"He seems to enjoy it," she had replied. "If it makes you feel any better, he will probably grow out of it anyway."

Tristan had sighed, shaking his head as Ardeth completed a third crown of flowers. "He won't wear it," he capitulated.

"I recall you wearing one, Trissy," Raja reminded him playfully.

"And you promised no one would ever know of it!" he reminded her. He could still hear her laughter.

"_Baba_?" Ardeth asked.

"Yeah, son, go ahead," Tristan said.

They both dismounted and let their horses graze as Ardeth picked some flowers before plopping himself down beside his father.

"I'll make this one for _Walida_, for when she comes back," he said perfunctorily.

Tristan said nothing.

"She will come back," Ardeth told his father with utter conviction. "She would never leave us behind." He nodded his head staunchly. "Never ever," he said, hushed. "Never ever."

A minute later, Tristan heard the sniffles coming from his son. "Come here," he said gently, and picked his small son up, placing him on his lap. For the first time in a while, Tristan held his son tightly, finding comfort, hoping he gave comfort in return. He bit back his own tears and let his son's fall like heavy raindrops. Several moments later, he found himself singing that lullaby he'd often sang to Raja, the lullaby the elder Ardeth had taught him to soothe Raja when she was hysterical.

The little boy calmed, eventually falling asleep. Tristan held the sleeping boy in his arms as they rode back to the fort.

--

Two weeks later, Tristan and the knights returned from a patrol. Vanora and Thea were standing in the courtyard looking anxious, but with wide smiles on their faces.

"Tristan!" Vanora said, out of breath even though she had only been standing. "It's Raja!"

It took a moment for Tristan to let that sink in. Only, he had expected the worst.

Thea saw the look on his face. "She's alive!" she hurried on to say. "In your room, with Ardeth."

Tristan stood their stupidly, like a statue. The other knights had heard, asking questions as if they could not quite believe it either. Then, Tristan bolted, running to their bedroom. The door slammed open, and there she was, breathing, little Ardeth curled up at her side with his head on her chest.

Raja's eyes opened. She was gaunt, her pallor sickly. "Trissy," her mouth moved.

Feet sounded in the halls, and the rest of the men stood behind Tristan in the doorway.

"_Baba_!" Ardeth grinned wide. "_Walida_ came back! See?" He hugged his mother tighter.

Tristan was breathing heavily, his heart pounding like a million drums in his chest.

Thea came, telling the men to give them a moment. "Ardeth, come here sweetie. Let your parents have some time alone, hmm?"

Ardeth frowned, clearly not wanting to leave his mother who had only returned four days ago. Raja whispered something to him and kissed him on the head. He left with Thea reluctantly, the door closing behind him, Tristan and Raja enclosed inside.

Tristan still stood across the room, completely still. Raja raised herself up in bed, she was a bit too weak to get up. "Come here to me, Trissy," she said, her eyes filling with tears.

He ran to her, falling to his knees, his head in her lap. Harsh, gasping sobs wracked his body. He sat next to her on the bed, taking her head in his large hands, stroking her face which had tears streaming down to match his. "Is it you? Is it really you, Raja?" he choked.

"It's me, Trissy," she replied through her own sobs. They held onto each other, feeling one another after what to them seemed a lifetime.

He couldn't help it; he kissed her passionately, craving her touch, wanting to drive it into himself that she was not an apparition, that he was not dreaming. Raja didn't care how weak she was, she kissed him back with just as much fervency, her tongue mingling with his.

"Inside me, Trissy," she said breathlessly.

He heard her, responding. His clothes came off, hers as well, and he was inside her warm sheath, under the covers, on top of her frail body. For minutes he just let himself feel the warmth of her, then he moved, sure strokes, and with each thrust the reality of everything became brighter. They cried, pressing themselves against one another, even after they had come in great explosions.

"Oh, gods, Raja," he wept. "I love you. I love you so much. My Raja."

"I love you, too, Tristan."

They made love again, Raja fully spent afterwards. They caressed each other, memorizing parts of each other they already knew by heart and touch. It was a couple of hours later that Tristan got dressed again, finally able to wrench himself away from her presence, but not for long.

"We have all the time in the world, now. Go take care of your needs," she said.

Gods, he did not want to leave the room. "I'll hurry."

While Tristan washed, Lancelot got to see his cousin. He tried to hold back his tears, but he could not, they rushed down like a waterfall. Raja held him in silence. He lifted his head, face streaked with tears and looked deep in her eyes. He tried to speak, but there were no words.

The rest of the day was filled with greetings and tears and awe.

Tristan, Raja and Ardeth had dinner together, Raja not able to eat much, but she managed. Ardeth had already told her everything he'd been doing while she'd been gone, never leaving her side those four days. With some prompting from Thea, she coaxed Ardeth out of the room once again, to let his parents have a night to themselves.

In the night, the fire crackling, Raja told Tristan how she'd manage to escape. She hadn't let on that she could understand their language, which was an advantage to her. He listened, taking in the words, but mostly he was just glad she was with him again. He held her that night, as hard as he could without injuring her brittle bones.

The next morning, the parents were greeted with an ecstatic Ardeth jumping on their bed between the two of them. The parents smiled at their son fondly. The three of them. Together again.

7/25/07


	7. The Heart of Everything

**The Heart of Everything**

Chronology: Tristan is 32. Raja is 22. Ardeth is 6.

Ardeth peered into his parents' room where his mother was laying unconscious on the bed. He had been so frightened and confused when his father had told him that she had been taken captive by the Saxons. He remembered his mother telling him that she was going to a village not far away to tend to some ill horses. He had wanted to go, but she said she would not be gone long, and should stay, just in case his father arrived before she came back. And though his father had, it was only because the village in which his mother had gone to was attacked by Saxons.

His father, Lancelot and the rest of the men had gone searching for her, and he was so happy to know his mother was alive, but they hadn't allowed him to see her. Everything was chaos, until he was told that his mother was hurt, and that was all. His father looked tired and worried. Sometimes little Ardeth would hear his mother scream. Though he was young, he could recall times when his mother had woken up screaming in the night. He always asked her what was wrong, but she never fully explained. Then, he had asked his father and he had only looked at him in silence, contemplating something Ardeth knew.

And there had been times when he would find his mother, standing, or sitting, staring into nothing with the saddest expression on her face. He would try to get her attention, but it was as if he weren't even there. So, he would just crawl on her lap and lay his head against her chest. And, like magic, somehow, she would come back, and her arms would wrap around him, and she would kiss him on the head. His father had walked in the bedroom during one of those times, a look on his face that young Ardeth could not decipher.

"She came back, _Baba_," Ardeth would say. And he would smile up at his mother, and she would smile back.

It was a mystery that the young boy had never figured out, and no one would tell him.

Now, his mother had been screaming in the night, more so than he had ever heard her. And it scared him. He was only allowed to sit with her for minutes at a time, he couldn't disturb her. Her face was bruised, and she was so thin. She almost didn't look like his mother. But he put his small hand on hers, her fingers wrapped in bandages.

"_Baba_?" he whispered.

Tristan turned around and managed a tiny smile. He got up quietly and lifted his son in his arms walking back out of the room into the antechamber, sitting them in front of the fire.

"I want to see _Walida_," Ardeth said.

"She's resting," Tristan replied.

"When will she wake up?" he asked. "She's never slept this long, even when she gets really sick." That was one thing he had been told, his mother had poor health, especially in the winter.

"I don't know."

"Why does she scream?"

His son's big, brown eyes stared up at him, pleading for an answer, something to assuage his fears. Tristan struggled with words to explain to his son. He knew Raja wasn't ready to let Ardeth know about what had happened to her in Egypt. All she told him was that her parents had died during a siege on her home when she was six years old.

Tristan cleared his throat and answered as best he could. "The Saxons hurt her."

Ardeth's brow creased. "What, exactly, is a whore?"

His eyes narrowed into slits. "Why?"

"A village boy said it, Lucan heard it, too." He and Lucan had become fast friends since the blond boy was adopted by Dagonet.

"Who did he call a whore?" Tristan asked his son sternly.

Ardeth bit his lip, now hesitant to continue with the conversation. "_Walida_," he finally said. He cringed at the furious look on his father's face. He hurried on, "He said his mother was saying that _Walida_ was a spy for the Saxons, and that she did things with the Saxons."

Tristan's arms unconsciously wrapped themselves tighter around Ardeth. "Your mother...is not a whore. Everything that boy's mother said is a lie. You understand me?"

Ardeth nodded.

"No, I want you to really understand, Ardeth," his father said. "A whore is a woman who has sex with men for money. Your mother would not do that. The Saxons hurt her, she did not ask for it. Anything anyone says against your mother is a lie. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, _Baba_." He gazed at his father seriously, utter conviction in his expression.

Tristan swallowed a lump in his throat. He knew his son was probably too young to fully understand the meaning of his words, but he had to know. Raja would die if Ardeth thought so low of her. "What was the boy's name?"

--

A few hours later, he had Lancelot sit with Raja, letting Ardeth stay with his uncle so long as he kept very quiet. He got the information about the boy and located his home. He slammed his fist against the door, and a woman answered.

"You're Sean's mother?"

"Yes," the woman said staunchly, but a quiver of fear was in her voice.

"Are you aware of what your son is saying about my wife?" He pushed his way into the small domicile. The longer he looked at the chubby, haggard face of the women, the angrier he became.

"I bet your pardon, sir! I did not invite you in!" But she stopped when the man stared her down with the ferocious expression of a deadly animal.

"Do you know who my wife is, woman?" His voice cold, colder than the snow that covered the lands.

"I have no idea who you are."

He sneered. "My wife is the woman you accuse of being in league with the Saxons, the woman you accuse of being a whore."

The woman's face went slack.

"You deny it, wench?" Tristan stepped closer, towering over the woman. "Well?"

The woman blubbered, trying to lie as convincingly as possible. "I've no idea what you speak of."

"The hell you don't," Tristan spat. "I will say this once. You keep your son's mouth clean of any words about my wife. And you best keep yours clean as well, woman."

"You dare to threaten me?" she retorted.

"I've never _threatened_ anyone in my life. I have my honor, wench, but I am not above cutting a woman's throat when it comes to my wife."

The woman's face went pale.

"Anyone else you've spoken to about my wife will hear from me. So I suggest you warn them. Nod if you understand."

Slowly, she did what he said and nodded.

"Good," he said, and left the woman's house. But just as he opened the door, a boy stood on the front steps, obviously about to enter. Tristan stared down at him, and the boy cowered instinctively. He turned back to the woman who stood not three feet from him, flicking her eyes to Tristan, and then her son. He gave her the most venomous look she had ever received in her life before walking by her son.

--

The weeks passed, and Raja did get better, slowly but surely. Ardeth would bring her breakfast every morning along with his father, and he told her he was taking good care of Odin and Horus in her stead.

One day, when Ardeth felt calm settling over his family, he got brave enough to ask his mother something he had wanted to for so long. "_Baba_ said the Saxons hurt you really bad."

Her son was lying next to her, his head on her shoulder, her arms around him. In that moment, she was so glad she had not borne a girl. What would she tell a daughter as she got older? If her daughter asked her about men in general, bedding men, topics a child would have to be informed about sooner or later. The inevitable questions would come: How old were you when you first bedded with a man? What would she say? Six? She felt enough shame in front of her son, a daughter would have been worse. At least, this way, Ardeth would go to Tristan for these things. When her son got older, he would learn about the enemies on the island, and the things they rewarded themselves with. What they did to women they came across, the way they used them. And it would dawn on him, and he would know. What would he think of her then?

"Yes, love, they did," she answered quietly. "But I'm all right now."

"But you're still sick," he said.

She smiled a bit. "But I'm mending. Don't I always?"

"Mmm-hmm. You always come back to _Baba_ and me."

"I would do anything in my power to return to you and your father. I love the both of you more than anything."

Ardeth snuggled closer. "I won't let anyone take you away again," he said sternly. He looked up at her, a hard, determined sheen in his eyes. "I won't. Not those filthy Saxons. I'll kill them!"

Raja sucked in a sharp breath at her son's anger. "No, Ardeth," she consoled. "Don't think like that."

"Why not? _Baba_ kills them."

"Yes, that's true. But your father is a grown man and a warrior. That is inevitable when he goes into battle."

He pursed his lips. "Then I will, too, when I am a man. No Saxon will escape me!"

Raja was becoming distressed at her son's words. Oh, she did not want him to have that hate in his heart. She did not want him to think he had to kill to protect her. She was the parent, his mother; it was her duty to protect him, not the other way around. Raja was saved by Tristan walking into the room; she knew he could see the squelched pain on her face.

"Why don't you go see Lucan, son?" Tristan picked Ardeth up off the bed and set him gently on his feet. After a hug and a kiss he was gone. Tristan sat next to her, clasping her frail hands in his. "What's wrong?"

Tears filled her eyes. "You should have heard him, Tristan. The anger on his face."

Tristan stroked her cheek. "What did he say?"

"He said he would kill the Saxons when he got older. He said he hated them."

"He's angry for what they did to you, Raja."

"He doesn't fully understand, Tristan. He cannot know, it would only fuel his hate. He's too young for that. Ardeth thinks he must protect me, but it's me who should be taking care of him. I'm his mother."

He nodded. "He loves you, he doesn't want to see you hurting again."

"I know that," she said shortly. "But it was the way he said it, Tristan! He needs to have a real childhood. We may not always be able to shield him from the ugliness in the world, but he's much too young..." Her voice broke. "What kind of mother am I that my child feels he must protect me?"

Tristan gathered her close in his arms, being careful of her fragile bones. "He knows you can take care of him, Raja. But the boy sees you hurt, and he wants to take care of you, like I do."

"You're a man. And he's six years old, he shouldn't be saying he wants to kill at his age! He should not hate so young!"

Tristan understood what she was saying, but at the same time, he knew it would come around when Ardeth would choose whether to be a warrior or no. He had been surrounded by them since birth, his father was one, the man he had been named after had been one.

"I want him to stop training, Tristan," she blurted. "No more sparring, no more hunting. None."

"Raja.." his voice trailed off.

Tears streamed down her cheeks and she shook her head in despair. She knew that demand was both fruitless and weightless.

"Ardeth is a strong boy. And he has had love surrounding him his whole life. No boy could turn out cruel with you for a mother." He kissed he tears from her face, placing light ones on her lips.

"My mother died trying to protect me. And it was in vain." Her voice became distant, and she looked in the opposite direction, away from her Trissy's concerned face. "She did not want those men to hurt me, she stowed me away in that bureau while they raped and killed her. That is what she did not want to happen to me. But it did, because I burst out from that hiding place. And her death was for nothing, and that is my fault."

"If she had not done what she did, you would have died for sure," he said.

Raja looked back at him with wide, tearful eyes. "But I did die, Tristan. The little girl I was, replaced with something darker." She tapped her heart, "That part which makes me weak, that part...which will always leave me in the darkness."

"That little girl you speak of brought me into the light. That strong girl I met fifteen years ago, who became an even stronger woman. Brave enough to keep going, and not grow bitter and cold, like I did. Only a resilient woman, like you Raja, with all the warmth and love you hold, could have brought me back. The warmth and love that fills Ardeth and gives him hope, and that fills me with your goodness to make me into a decent father and human being. No weak woman could do that."

"I only go on for you and Ardeth."

"As long as you go on, Raja," he said with a kiss. "That's all."

7/27/07


	8. Eyes of Truth

A/N: I realized I never do this unless someone PMs be about it. But I really want to say thank you all those who've read my stories and responded back with positive reviews. You have no idea how much I appreciate them and how encouraging they are. :)

**Eyes of Truth**

Chronology: Tristan is 40. Raja is 30. Ardeth is 14.

Ardeth clumsily fumbled with his breeches when he heard voices entering the stables. Sandrine, a curvaceous sixteen year old smoothed down her hair and straightened her dress. It was hot in the closed stall; she and Ardeth had been fooling around for the past half hour. For a male two years younger than her, she thought him incredibly mature, and the gods knew he was a sight more attractive than a lot of the older men around the fort. With his light golden skin and golden eyes, raven black hair, sharp cheekbones and lean body, he was a most worthy competitor for other men.

Sandrine stifled her giggles at Ardeth's flustered demeanor. She gathered she was the first woman who had the honor to give him his first cock-sucking. A lot of other girls fancied him, and one of the things she liked about him was that he didn't lead them on. He was a flirt, certainly, but not to a disrespectful degree. He didn't touch the girls solicitously, or bad mouth them. Sandrine surmised that it had something to do with his great love and respect for his mother, who everyone knew had been taken by Saxons eight years ago, and everyone knew what Saxons did to women – whatever they wanted.

"Shh," Ardeth shushed her.

The clip-clop of two horses leaving the stables had Ardeth letting out a breath of relieved air. He opened the stall doors, letting Sandrine exit first, just as Lancelot was sauntering in. He raised his eyebrows, then smiled indulgently at the young man, his nephew – although second-cousin by blood.

Ardeth's heart raced. "Uh...Uncle Lancelot."

Sandrine smiled. Despite the fact that Sir Lancelot was married, he was still a legend as one of the most gifted lovers among the fortress.

"Ardeth," Lancelot continued to smile. "Don't let me interrupt you and your...lady friend." He winked conspiratorially.

Ardeth knew his Uncle Lancelot wouldn't tell anyone, the man was all too familiar with romps in the stables...and probably every other place there was. But the young boy wouldn't dream of asking Lancelot to keep this a secret from his mother. His father, being a man, father to son, knew that Ardeth was discovering his liking for the ladies, and never chastised him about it.

It was late in the afternoon, so Ardeth and Sandrine parted ways. Sandrine went to the two bedroom domicile she shared with her father. Her mother had been dead for the passed ten years. Her father had a liking for drink, and often came home in the middle of the night, stumbling and mumbling, often falling asleep with his boots on. They were not close, and because of her father's drunken states, debts for gambling, which she knew were high, he often took it out on her. He took the money she earned as a laundress, though she tried hard to hide it from him. She was saving up to move out, perhaps she would share lodgings with one of the other women whom she was friendly with. There was another reason she desperately wanted to move out. Ever since she began to develop into a woman, her father had become overly strict with her. He bad mouthed her, calling her a slut in one of his drunken bouts, convinced that she was sleeping around. But she often caught him looking at her, in a way that a father should not look at a daughter.

Sandrine had only bedded one man when she had been fifteen. It was a wonderful experience. He was a soldier in the legion, at least ten years her senior. He might have known her true age and didn't care, or perhaps he simply thought she had been older. Her body hardly resembled that of the average sixteen year old. Her breasts were ample, her waist expanded into modest, seductive curves. Her skin was fair and flawless, her brown hair shone in the sun.

To her disappointment her father was home early from work. He came out of his bedroom with a filthy wench, her blouse showed most of her bosom, her hair was all over the place.

"Ah, my dear daughter," her father slurred.

"Hello, Father," she said amiably. She nodded at the woman and then walked to her bedroom which was upstairs. She closed her door, hoping that her father would leave with the wench, and not come upstairs to harass her. After a quarter of an hour when she heard no more, she changed out of her good dress and into an old one. It was summer and she and the other laundresses often did their work when it was cooler in the evenings.

Just as she was about to put her old chemise on, her father opened the door without knocking. She gasped and covered herself.

Her father was silent, his eyes were bloodshot, but they shone with lust, which he did not care to hide. Then, he scoffed. "You're growing..." he said, his words a bit muttered.

"Father," she said hesitantly, "may I have some privacy?"

"Privacy?" he said loudly. "This is my house daughter, I can come and go anywhere I please."

Her eyes opened wide, and she swallowed a lump in her throat. Quickly, with all the haste she could muster, she turned her back and slipped the chemise over her head.

"I must get to work, Father," she told him, her voice a bit shaky.

"Yeah," he grumbled. "Sure you're not going to meet some boy?"

"No," Sandrine said clearly. "I have to work. If I don't leave now, I'll be late."

Her father was silent for a moment while he gave her a once over from head to toe. His lips curled upwards in a contemptuous grin. He let her go to work, and she all but ran to the laundry.

--

"So?" Lucan turned to his best friend Ardeth. Ever since he had been adopted by Dagonet eight years ago, Ardeth had befriended him and they became inseparable. Lucan began to study with Ardeth who was taught by his mother, Raja. In the past eight years, Lucan learned how to read and write Latin as well as Ardeth. Raja was teaching them the Celtic language as well.

"So what?" Ardeth replied.

It had been a few weeks since Ardeth's escapade with Sandrine. He and Lucan were in the stables tending to their steeds. Ra, Ardeth's large mount was strong and steady, he had named the horse after his great-uncle's own horse. Taranis, Lucan's horse was white and grey, a fast rider, his hooves were hard against any surface, which was why Lucan had named him what he had, it meant "thunder."

"That woman you were with? Sandrine?" Lucan smirked at his friend.

As the young men they were, Lucan, too, was finding his admiration for women. He was a bit shyer than Ardeth, although he was handsome. His dark blond hair went to his shoulders, he was tall for his age, but lean like his friend. He fought well with both sword and axe, his hunting skills were excellent.

"She sucked me," Ardeth said quietly, even though there was no one else in the stables.

Lucan's brow rose. He hadn't gotten that far with a woman yet. "You haven't bedded her?"

"Ah, no," Ardeth shook his head. He hadn't bedded any woman. In fact, he didn't want to bed a woman he didn't truly care about. It was pathetic for a male to think that, but when a boy had parents like his, you couldn't help but appreciate and want something similar.

Lucan bit his lip. "Was it good?"

"Felt better than kissing," he replied.

The two young men laughed.

"And you?" Ardeth asked.

Lucan blushed and shook his head. Most other friends probably would have teased him, but Ardeth wasn't like that.

"Sandrine and I hardly meet anymore though. She begged off a couple of weeks ago." Ardeth shrugged, he wasn't particularly hurt, but he had been a bit disappointed at the time, and also a bit confused. One minute she was all over him, the next she was wary and distant. Women.

They stopped their talking when Raja entered the stables. At thirty, she still did not look a day over twenty-five.

"Hello, boys," she said with an affectionate smile.

"Hi, _Walida_," her son said.

"Hi, Raja," Lucan said.

"Are you two off to somewhere?"

Ardeth paused. "We were just going out riding." He averted his eyes.

"Oh," was her short comment. "Hunting then?"

Lucan turned away as well. He knew Raja didn't like hunting, she was an animal lover through and through, and had a special connection with all of them.

Ardeth nodded his head. He knew his mother didn't intentionally make him feel guilty, and he knew that she harbored no ill feelings that he did go out hunting. He treated his prey with respect, his father having taught him how to make as swift a kill as possible.

"Okay, well, don't stay out too late, love," she kissed him on the head. "Your father should be back this afternoon."

Ardeth's spirits lifted knowing this. Tristan had been gone with the other men and the soldiers for two weeks already. She gave Lucan kiss as well before they left. Raja sighed and turned towards Odin who had been with her since she was nine years old. He was getting old, and it burned her heart to know that the more he aged, the less time she had with him. Horus cawed from the rafters and she grinned up at him.

--

Ardeth and Lucan had not arrived when Tristan and Dagonet came home. Raja greeted her love in the courtyard. He gave her a hearty kiss and a strong hug, having missed her terribly. Their love for each other could not have been any stronger, having never wavered in twenty-two years.

She gave the rest of the men loving embraces, always happy when they came home safe and sound. In their chambers, Raja helped Tristan strip off his armor. Seconds alone in her presence he was hard and wanting. He still smelled of his sweat and Dyne's, he was filthy, but Raja accepted his advances with fervor.

Tristan slipped his rough hands under her skirt, feeling the silky firm skin, all the way up until he cupped her buttocks. He squeezed gently, admiring the feel of her body. Raja moaned when he cupped her moist sex, her fingers threaded through his tangled hair. He wanted her so badly, their coupling was always fierce and passionate when he came home. She unlaced his breeches and he plunged into her ardently, his strokes were hard and precise. He locked her lips against his, their breathing was fast. He buried his face in her neck, smelling the clean scent that was his Raja. He groaned her name, still thrusting, every stroke becoming more persistent than the last. Her channel clasped his phallus like an iron vice, saturating him, driving him on.

"Oh, god, harder Trissy," she moaned.

He was all too happy to oblige her. On the clean bedding he snaked his arms under and around her thighs so her feet were over his shoulders. It gave him better access. She met his every move.

"Harder," she demanded through her ecstatic keening. "Harder."

He growled, his hips pumping, invading her. Raja's hands clawed into the bedding, steadying herself, wanting to take him as deep as she could. He hit her womb again and again, they both peaked and came in simultaneous cries of satisfied lovers. He slumped against her for several moments before removing his weight. Now he smelled of sweat and sex. Raja's sex.

She prepared a warm bath for him, taking care of his person tenderly as she always did when he arrived home. She unknotted his hair, washed it twice. Scrubbed his back. All this done in serene silence. Afterwards, she prepared the basin of hot water and soothing oils for his blistered feet, bringing him food while he relaxed.

"Thank you," he said with a gentle, lingering kiss on her lips.

"Of course," she replied.

After he was finished eating he spoke. "And where is Ardeth?"

"He went out hunting with Lucan just a couple of hours ago. He should be back soon."

Tristan nodded.

"I need to discuss something with you before he comes back, though," Raja told him.

"What about?" He led her to the armchairs in front of the fire.

"I really think you should speak to Ardeth about what it means to lay with a woman," she said promptly.

Tristan stopped mid-slice into his apple. "I had that talk with him less than a year ago."

Raja smiled knowingly at him. "I know you, Tristan. And it was a brief talk, wasn't it? 'Be careful who you lay with, son'," Raja mimicked.

Tristan snorted.

"I do not know if he has taken that step, but he is discovering his manhood, and it is no secret he is popular with the girls around here."

"We cannot stop him from bedding a wench, Raja," he told her.

"I know that! But the consequences of doing so. What if he were to get a girl with child? He is young. What would he do? Would he claim it?"

"I think that is something we should deal with if it comes to that."

"Yes. It is girls a few years older than him that he spends time with."

Tristan had a look on his face that said he was proud of his son. Although, he himself had not been one to woo ladies in his past, it was nice to know that his son was personable. He was proud of his son in everything. With his mother teaching Ardeth all that her Uncle Ardeth had taught her, his son was extremely learned, which was rare these days. With the Romans gone for years, illiteracy was extremely common. And his son was a skilled archer and swordsman, a hunter, horseback rider.

"I just want him to understand, fully understand, what he might be dealing with," Raja said. "I would speak with him about this, but I believe he would be more comfortable if it came from you." Her tone suggested that she wished her son would be at ease discussing it with her, but he was a young lad, and although Ardeth loved her, when it came to matters of the flesh, the father was always the one to go to.

Tristan put his apple and knife on the table, got up, lifted Raja off her chair to cradle her in his arms, then he sat back down with her on his lap. He kissed and nuzzled her neck affectionately.

"Ardeth is a smart boy, I don't think we have to worry about him too much," he said.

"I know. I know," she replied. "I cannot stop him from maturing, and I do not begrudge him his activities, but I just want him to be safe." She sighed. "I very well can't demand that he cease, I was a mere two years older than he when I bedded you."

Tristan smiled fondly remembering that time. He recalled every detail. Tasting her sweet nectar for the first time, and her whimpering sounds of desire that urged him on to sate his thirst. Cupping her breasts for the first time, sucking on her taut nipples, and then entering the haven of her body, becoming one with her, body and soul. The feeling of her thighs clamped around his waist, meeting him thrust for thrust. His warm seed spilling inside of her as she quivered beneath him. And how he had reached out to her several times that night, not able to get enough. His want for her had never lessened or diminished, and he felt himself becoming aroused just thinking of it.

"Tristan," she chastised playfully.

"I think we should use this time for ourselves before our son comes back." And with that, he carried her back into their bedroom.

--

Sandrine's father, Connor, stumbled his way through the streets and back alleys, aiming his way to his house without falling on his rear. It was dark in the living area, the fire was out. It was late, he knew, and he was drunk as a skunk.

Inside her bedroom, Sandrine heard her father come home. Her door was closed, and she curled up under her blankets. She could practically smell the alcohol from there. She heard him curse when he bumped into something, then she heard his bedroom door close, and she let out a breath that she hadn't realized she was holding. She fell into a fitful sleep.

A few hours later, she felt a draft on her body and she shivered. She must have kicked the blankets back. Her eyes fluttered open, and she sensed a presence hovering over her. Her eyes shot open, fear instantly causing her heart to pound. Her father was standing over her, stark naked, plainly aroused.

Connor looked at his daughter lecherously, the ale he had consumed had worn off just a tad. "You look more and more like your mother every day," he said in a gruff whisper.

Sandrine swallowed a painful lump in her throat. In vain she tried to cover her body, suddenly feeling that her nightgown was too sheer. Her body was frozen on the bed, she tried to will her legs to move, to run, but they wouldn't obey.

Connor sat down on the bed. He reached out and stroked his daughter's cheek. "So soft." His one finger trailed down her neck, to her chest. "Soft."

"Father..." Sandrine pleaded.

"Father?" he spat, going from hot to cold in a second. He chuckled callously. "You know...all these years I've wondered if you were truly my blood." He tipped his head to the side, observing her only by the moonlight. "But you look nothing like me. And God knows your mother was a whore." His large hand curled around the back of her neck, he tugged her head forward, his breath choked her.

Sandrine finally managed to struggle when she felt his dry, cracked lips on hers. "No!" she said, using her hands to push him away. She fell out of bed clumsily.

"Get back here," he snapped. He was standing over her again, he backhanded her across the face.

Sandrine fell back to the ground, and she felt the weight of her father on top of her. She fought him, but he was stronger. She kicked her legs, he hit her again and she tasted blood. He moaned, fondled her breasts, kissed her neck, kissed her mouth. Finally, she felt his rough hands under her nightgown.

"No!" she cried. "Please!"

"Shut up! The neighbors don't need to know our business."

Sandrine felt his erection against her stomach, she fought to keep the bile from rising out of her throat. This couldn't be happening. He had her wrists pinned above her head.

"Let's see if you've been plucked." Without preamble, he shoved two fingers inside of her, moved them around, up and down. "Just as I thought. Whore." Then he slammed his phallus inside of her. She cried out, both in surprise and pain. His panting breath was hot in her ear, his thrusts were merciless. Her backside rubbed abrasively against the wooden floor.

Sandrine shut her eyes, and gritted her teeth, waiting for it to be over. Waiting for the nightmare to end. She didn't know how long he went at it, but finally she felt him release his seed inside of her. His heavy body collapsed on hers. She lay still, in shock. Tears trickled down the sides of her face.

--

Two days later Arthur and Guinevere listened to the complaint of Connor Alban. The king and queen listened in stock silence as Connor recounted the tale that his daughter had told him. They both hid their shock when he mentioned Ardeth's name. Ardeth would never rape a girl, never. Knowing what his mother went through, it was implausible, unthinkable.

"I demand justice," Connor slammed his fist against the table.

Sandrine flinched, continuing to avoid the eyes of the king and queen. Her face was swollen, there were finger marks around her neck and wrists. Her privates still hurt from her father's relentless assault. It was only because Sandrine had ran out of the house blindly that they were here forming an official complaint. A barmaid and her companion had encountered her as she fled to nowhere in particular in the night. She was too ashamed to admit that it was her father who had caused her this turmoil. And now Ardeth was implicated. Her father knew of Ardeth and whom his parents were. His father was one of the great Sarmatian knights, his mother of noble blood. Connor had seen coin in his plot. He was in debt, and if he could somehow blackmail them into paying him into silence, his troubles would be solved.

"Naturally," Arthur began, "we will have to hear Ardeth's side of the story." He had already sent a guard to Tristan's and Raja's wing in the keep to fetch the boy. Just then, Ardeth and his parents entered the room.

Ardeth looked uncertainly at his parents, at Arthur and Guinevere. When he saw Sandrine's beaten face his face was a mask of worry.

"Sandrine, what happened?" he asked with genuine concern.

"Don't address my daughter, boy," her father snapped.

Tristan's posture became defensive, knowing that whatever this was about was not good.

"Please, take a seat," Arthur said to them, greatly dreading this entire encounter.

Ardeth sat between his parents.

"You were summoned here because this man-" Arthur was interrupted.

"You raped my daughter you scum!" Connor spat.

Ardeth's eyes opened as wide as saucers. "What?!"

"That is a lie," Raja said with vicious calm.

"Arthur?" Tristan turned to his commander and friend, deadly serious.

"Silence," Arthur said sternly to Connor. "Do not interrupt me again."

Connor preened but kept his temper, shooting daggers at Ardeth. The man may be a brute, but he was not brave enough to meet the scout's eyes. A reputation for being the most cold, calculating and savage warrior for miles and miles, Connor was afraid that he might see the truth.

Arthur continued. He told Sandrine to recount what had happened. With hesitance, and pauses, she sniffled through her tale. She had been in her bedroom, it was late. Her father had not yet arrived home. Ardeth snuck into the house and tried to seduce her. When she denied him, saying that her father might come home any minute he became angry. And he forced her into submission.

"Lies!" Ardeth jumped up indignantly.

His parents calmed him, Raja spoke to him softly in Arabic and his hackles came down.

"What proof do you have?" Tristan asked Connor coldly.

"My daughter's word is all the proof needed," he said haughtily.

"My son would never so much as a raise a hand to any girl or woman," Raja said with utter conviction. By the gods, the very thought of her son committing such an act was unbearable. The fact that he was even being accused of such a thing stoked the rage within her.

Connor scoffed. "Rape is punishable by death, is it not?" He turned to the king and queen for confirmation.

"You mind your tongue," Tristan said, his tone slithering across the room like a venomous snake. "Do not threaten my son. Your daughter is lying. You are lying, and no one is laying a hand on my boy."

While Raja clutched her son's hand in comfort, she looked across the table at Sandrine. Raja knew the look of a woman violated, she knew the look all too well. The girl was not lying that she had been raped, but she was lying about who had done it. It was not her son.

Sandrine felt steady eyes on her, and she looked up from beneath her eyelashes to see silver eyes gazing at her with both scrutiny and sympathy.

Raja barely heard the repressed anger in the arguments going on in the room. She only held steadfast to her son and the torment in Sandrine's eyes.

"You are blinded by your son's deception," Connor accused.

When Raja spoke, the room fell silent. "I said before – my son would never do such a thing. To accuse him of such is a crime in itself, not to be taken lightly. I think you best look in the mirror and tell yourself who the true aggressor is."

"Raja?" Guinevere said. Over the years, Raja had become her closest confidante second to her husband. After what she had been through, it was probably a knife to the heart to hear her son accused of the very things that were so cruelly done to her.

The Egyptian woman stood up, her face empty, but her eyes burned like molten silver. She said something to her son in Arabic and he stood as well.

"I will not sit here and listen to you accuse my son of such a despicable thing," Raja announced. "And if you or anyone else touches a hair on his head, I will kill you." And before she left, she said one last thing. "Sandrine," – at her tone, the young girl looked up – "tell the truth. It was not your fault."

--

Overwhelmed by guilt and grief, Sandrine did tell the truth. Her father was outraged and denied it until he was blue in the face. But he was taken to the cells and locked up, awaiting his fate. Rape was indeed punishable by death.

Ardeth was still shaken by the morning's events. He never thought he would be on the receiving end of such an accusation. He despised men who mistreated women. He had the utmost respect for his mother, Aunt Vanora, Guinevere, Sophia. He would never raise his hand to another woman. Never take one against her will. It made him sick.

Raja poured him warm tea in the antechamber. She let her son sit in silence for a while.

"Do you truly believe me, _Walida_?" His golden eyes looked at her with boyish sadness.

"Of course!" she said. "Ardeth, my love, there was never a doubt in my mind. I know you would never commit such an act."

"And _Baba_?"

"No doubt in his mind either."

"Why would Sandrine say it was me?" Ardeth blurted. "I never said one unkind word to her, ever! She and I have never even-" He checked himself.

"Laid together, I know, Ardeth," his mother finished for him. "But I know why she blamed you. A woman violated feels enough shame as it is...but to be violated by her father...perhaps you can understand how desperate she was to hide that."

"Her father?" Ardeth asked incredulously. Then he took a moment to think about that. "How do you know?"

She was silent for a moment and stared deep into her son's eyes. "I know."

Slowly, he nodded, understanding. "What will happen to her?"

Raja was touched by her son's willingness to forgive Sandrine her lie. He had a good heart. "Well, her father will be hung. Good riddance," Raja declared baldly. "I do not know if she can pay the rent on her home by herself."

"She told me that she wanted to move out, perhaps stay with one of the other laundresses," Ardeth informed her. "Now I know why she was so eager to."

Before the conversation could continue, Tristan walked into the chamber. "He will be hung either today or tomorrow," he said without pity.

Ardeth gulped, not sure he could meet his father's eyes. When he did, Tristan stared at him in contemplation, and Ardeth wondered what he was thinking. Tristan took a seat next to Raja, poured himself some ale.

"I would rather kill him myself," Tristan said.

Raja patted his hand.

"How do you feel?" Tristan asked Ardeth.

He opened his mouth, then closed it, trying to find the right words. "Why couldn't she have chosen someone else to blame?" he blurted. "Everyone around the fort will hear about it and even though I'm declared innocent, they will still wonder! I don't want to have that on my name!" His face was turning red, having held in his frustration for too many hours.

"Ardeth, anyone who would even doubt your innocence is a fool," Raja said. "The people who love you believe it, and if anything were to be said otherwise in their presence you can surely believe that the slanderer will be forcefully corrected."

Ardeth was still troubled. He excused himself and went to his quarters. Raja sighed and Tristan put his arm around her. "Come here."

She sat on his lap, her arms around his neck for comfort.

"I wish he would not be so hard on himself," Raja said.

"He'll move on from it," he assured her. Tristan looked her in the eyes, searching for any remoteness or emptiness that the events might have brought upon. He feared that it might have resurrected old ghosts.

"I'm fine, Trissy," she said, kissing him on the forehead.

--

Later that evening as Raja slumbered, Tristan got out of bed, kissed his wife gently, and trudged across the antechamber and to his son's room. He grabbed two apples from a bowl of various fruits. He heard breathing of someone awake. He knocked.

"Come in," he heard his son say.

Tristan walked in to see Ardeth lying on the bed, legs crossed, staring at the ceiling. He pulled up a chair next to the bed. The boy had skipped dinner, and hadn't left his room since he'd gone in earlier that morning. He tossed his son an apple.

Ardeth smiled and sat up in bed. He took his dagger from his bedside table and began eating the apple in the same manner as his father.

After several moments of silence, Ardeth asked the question he'd been wondering about all day. "Have you ever been accused of violating a woman?"

Tristan arched an eyebrow, taking his son's question in stride. "Not that I can remember." But he leveled with Ardeth. "But wenches, in the past, complained that I was too rough with them."

"Were you?"

Tristan swiped his tongue over his teeth. "I was not known for being the most gentle man around the fort. Are you ready for this talk, Ardeth?"

He nodded.

"You are a boy becoming a man. It's a difficult time. And all the more so when you add women to it."

"You can say that again," he muttered in return. "They're complicated."

Tristan chuckled. "That is true."

Ardeth cleared his throat. "Was..._Walida_ complicated?" Even though he couldn't imagine his mother to be flighty and indecisive, accusing men of false actions.

As always, thinking of their earlier courtship, Tristan's face softened, and his lips curled into a gentle smile. "No. Your mother was very different from any woman I had ever met. And I've yet to meet any woman who comes close. I doubt I ever will."

"Should I be so lucky to find a woman like that," Ardeth said.

"You're young yet, son," Tristan said seriously.

"So I should sow my oats in the mean time?" Ardeth jested, earning a laugh from his father.

"Be very careful what field you sow your oats in, Ardeth. It always seemed the wisest to just pay a woman, no strings attached." He scratched his beard. "But, then again, there is the occasional whore who tries to get a marriage proposal out of you."

"You?"

"It was usually Lancelot," he replied.

"I can believe that."

"You're smart, Ardeth. Not a boy to be led astray easily. And if you veer off the path, your mother and I will be there."

8/8/07


	9. What is Eternal

**What is Eternal**

Chronology: Tristan is 41. Raja is 31. Ardeth is 15.

They had been gone for a week. A seven day trek to another village and a seven day trek back. The first half was without event. The second half was filled with more strife than the fifteen year old boy had expected. His best friend, Lucan, was there. Along with the boy's father, Tristan. Lucan's father, Dagonet was there. Uncle Lancelot, Bors and Arthur. It was just a routine journey. Lucan and Ardeth went along for experience in what they would perhaps be doing when they got older.

Ardeth was by a creek in the dark woods. The blood was still sticky on his skin. He had vomited everything there was in his stomach turning into gasping dry heaves. He had never killed anyone before. His temporary sword, until he would get his very own, had been coated in crimson. He had stood over the last Saxon he had killed. Ever since he was a child, he always imagined getting revenge for what they done to his mother. Taking a life was like playing a god. Ardeth had been scared, but he had had to push it back in order to survive. The blood had coursed through his body with a speed he had never felt.

The young boy stripped off his clothes and waded into the cold water, heedless of the slight pain of needles stabbing into his skin when such cold water washed over him. He scrubbed his skin vigorously. He dunked his head under the water, his shoulder-length; raven black hair with its four braids was cleaned of the dry blood that had matted it down just a few hours ago. After he had gotten as much as the filth off, he dug in his sack for the spare pair of breeches and tunic his mother had insisted he take with him. The clean socks were heaven on his feet, cushioning him from his boots. His eyes still stung with the silent tears he had cried in silence. He never imagined being sickened by the thought of killing a Saxon. He hated them all; he had hated them for years.

Thinking of it all once more, he slumped against a tree, fresh tears stinging behind his eyelids. There were the merest slits of moonlight that escaped their way through the trees to light the forest. His horse, Ra, was a few paces away; Ardeth could hear the gentle beat of his hooves. He didn't tether him to a tree; Ardeth knew he wouldn't run away. Oddly, Ardeth had first been worried about Ra's safety, afraid that one of the Saxon's arrows would pierce the beautiful creature's black coat.

Ardeth's own arrows had aimed true, Ra and him a good partnership in battle. His father had taught him well. During the fight, he had caught brief glimpses of Lucan swinging his sword as well. His best friend had survived, and after, when his golden eyes met his blue eyes, he'd seen the same expression he knew was on his face. He knew his friend's heart was beating as fierce as his, and not from exertion. Lucan had vomited then and there, quickly wiping his mouth before any of the adults had seen.

Light footsteps approached him. He rubbed his eyes in haste, not wanting anyone to see the tears that marred his cheeks. He looked up to see his father, staring down at him.

"I was just returning," he said, getting up as quickly as possible.

"It's all right," his father replied. He tipped his head to the side; his son averted his eyes from his penetrating stare. He smelled the acidic stench of vomit nearby. He crossed his arms over his chest, waiting for his son to say something if he wanted to say something. "Ardeth."

Ardeth hid his wince as best he could at his father's firm, but sympathetic tone. Not his father, he could live with anyone else's disappointment at his behavior, but not his father's. A painful lump rose in his throat. His father took another step forward, the moon beams lighting his face. As if his father had silently commanded it, Ardeth's eyes, a copy of his sires, met his. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

Tristan shook his head gently. "Sorry for what?"

"I know," – he cleared his throat – "that I shouldn't be..."

When he knew his son was having trouble going on, he spoke. "There is no one around here to judge you." He put a supportive hand on his son's shoulder. He felt him shake, and then he broke down. Tristan gathered him in his arms, crushing him against his rough hauberk.

Ardeth's fingers dug into his father's back, he held on to his father's supportive gait as tightly as he could. His sobs were choked, they wracked his body. Tristan held him for several moments until Ardeth composed himself. He stepped away; Ardeth wiped his nose with his sleeve. He bent and put his hands on his knees, then plopped onto the ground, not able to hold himself up.

Tristan crouched by him.

He cleared his throat, wanting to fill the silence, a million words ran through his head, too many for his mouth to form. "What was your first battle like?" he asked his father quietly.

"Different," he replied after a moment. "I knew I was going into battle."

"Does it make it any easier?"

"Perhaps not."

Ardeth snorted ruefully, self-deprecatingly. "Did you cry? Throw up?"

Tristan scratched his beard. "I vomited, but I do not recall crying. I sat in silence for a long while, though. Recalling the battle."

"How old were you?"

"Fourteen."

The questions were coming faster, he need to know. "Did you feel badly?"

The slightest of curves lifted the side of his mouth. "Not then. But when I first came here, there was a Woad that was near death. A Roman ordered me to kill him. I had to look at him in his blue eyes. He nodded slightly, like he understood what I had to do."

Ardeth nodded. "Do you...do you really like to kill?"

Tristan took his time answering that. Even after all these years, he was still known as the most blood-thirsty warrior in these parts. He never had taken it to heart, and had never cared...until he met Raja. But he never worried about it, because she did not care. She had seen passed that, and he was able to be himself, relishing a bit of the kill. But now? After so long? "Yes," he said bluntly. "I still take to it."

"I...I don't know if I do. I hate the Saxons; I've wanted to face them..." – he shook his head – "for so long."

Tristan was glad for that. Ardeth had been brought up with love, two parents, he had a childhood. Tristan had been taken away from his mother too young. He had seen too much blood at a young age, and he had had to shut himself off from it. He hadn't had anyone to comfort him during dark times. Ardeth's ambivalence was evidence of a warm heart, Raja would never have wanted him to become cold and hopeless.

"You know..." Ardeth said, breaking the silence, "_Walida_ told me about great Uncle Ardeth. And about how his father had taught him to leave his _ka_ behind during battle, but to always remember to take it back when it was over. So he would not become empty inside."

Tristan smiled, recalling the elder Ardeth. So savage in battle, but when the fighting was over, one would probably never guess that the Egyptian could kill so easily and coldly. Especially when one could see how he took such loving care of his little niece.

"Do you believe that, _Baba_?"

"I didn't have the same beliefs as Ardeth. But I respected his, and saw the wisdom in it."

"Did you ever try to do that...after you met _Walida_?"

"It was too late for me," he replied easily, but not regretfully.

Ardeth glared at his father speculatively. "So...are you saying you have no _ka_?"

No, he said in his mind. "Your mother is my _ka_."

Ardeth's brow furrowed.

It was difficult to explain such a belief to anyone who had never loved anyone so unconditionally, so passionately as Tristan loved Raja. She was his goodness, his heart, his soul. Without her, he had none of those things. She was his warmth, his light; she brought out whatever humanity he had buried so deep those long years ago. How do you explain that to a young boy, even if that young boy was his son? It would sound like drivel, and frivolous sentiment to anyone who had never felt what he did.

"Maybe you will understand that someday," Tristan told him.

By that time, Ardeth felt better. His stomach rumbled.

"Come," his father said, standing up. "There's good meat at the campfire."

--

When they rode into the courtyard back at the fort, Raja was waiting for them, a ready smile on her face. But her silver eyes flickered when she saw her son. He looked at ease, perhaps to anyone else, but she was his mother. Tristan gave her the very slightest of nods. Jols led the horses away.

Raja embraced her son, a welcoming kiss on the cheek at the ready. He couldn't help but blush.

"Oh, you smell terrible, Ardeth," she rebuked him affectionately.

His mother's good humor cheered him; he gave her another tight hug, standing a head taller than her. He went off with Lucan to the bathhouses.

Tristan gave Raja a firm, lingering kiss.

"And you, smell terrible as well, Tristan," she said.

He was in a hot bath several minutes later; Raja had put scented, soothing oils in the water before he could stop her. Her hands in his hair sent tingles down his spine, she untangled it gently. He got out and dried himself off. While he ate the food she had prepared, she asked.

"Was there a battle, Trissy?"

Tristan swallowed, and nodded.

A distressed look came over her, and he reached over and put a hand over hers. "He did well."

"And after?"

"He was upset. But got through."

Raja's lips curved upwards just a bit. "Is it time then?"

"I think he's ready."

--

When Ardeth was eight, he left Britain with his mother and father. Galahad, Gawain and their wives had been going back to Sarmatia. Raja had written to her Uncle Memnon in Egypt, securing a ship for them. They sailed to Sarmatia first, which was Raja's and Ardeth's first time on Sarmatian soil. The boy had checked his father for any sort of reaction, and later he had asked him why he did not seem happy or sad about returning. His father had replied: "I may have been born here, but it is not my home."

"What does that mean, _Baba_?" Ardeth had asked.

"It means that my home is wherever you and your mother are," Tristan replied.

Galahad and Gawain remained in Sarmatia, and are still there. After, the three of them sailed to Egypt, unlike his father, Raja was more emotional setting foot back on her homeland. The Colony where her parents had died was long repaired; the large manse in where she had lived had been fortified. His mother had walked those halls alone, and finally she had gone into the room where her mother had died. And where her life had changed forever, the path that would lead her to Tristan.

Raja had gone to the family tomb. Tristan and Ardeth had waited outside the large building while Raja had visited her mother and father, and Uncle Ardeth, whom had died eight years ago. She had been so quiet after that. They stayed for the winter, and in the summer they sailed back to Britain with funds from Raja's inheritance that would go to the reparations of the fortress.

What Ardeth hadn't known was that Raja and Tristan had gone to the best blacksmith in the Colony, the great-grandson of the man who had forged his great Uncle Ardeth's sword. The son of the man who had forged his mother's own sword.

All this was revealed to Ardeth three days after he returned to the fort after his two week journey.

In the ante-chamber of their wing, he sat in front of his parents as he opened the lacquered, engraved box of ebony. The box was four feet long, five inches tall. When he opened it, there was a silk cloth covered the object underneath. The interior of the box was lined with blue velvet. He pulled the silk back, revealing his own sword, curved like his mother's and father's. The sheath was black leather, Egyptian prayers on one side, Sarmatian symbols on the other. The hilt was carved in intricate Egyptian and Sarmatian symbols, the base of the pommel had an ankh etched on it.

It was sharp, shiny, so much so he could see his reflection which was masked in awe and disbelief that this was his.

He looked up at his mother and father who were staring at him with small smiles. He thanked them profusely in a bumble of Arabic and Sarmatian.

"Why now?" he asked.

"It was time," Raja said. She squeezed Tristan's hand.

"Your first kill, Ardeth," he said seriously. "It is your choice, but you know in my tribe, we are marked for our ascent into manhood."

Ardeth's fingers touched his sharp cheekbones. "Like yours?"

"If you want," he said. He felt a flush of pride when his son accepted with mature dignity, taking the privilege and gift with reverence.

Two days later, Ardeth's cheeks were indelibly marked the very same as his father's. And on the base of his neck was tattooed the Eye of Horus like his mother. It was one of the most memorable days of his life; he had never felt so much like his mother's son, and his father's son.

For the very first time in his life, he felt like a man, even though he knew he still had a long ways to go, and so much to learn. There was a celebration held for him that lasted long through the night.

Tristan's and Raja's feelings were ineffable as they watched their son in his moment of triumph. Tristan thought back to the day of his birth, when he had silently begged Raja not to leave him. Those nine months that he had worried that she would leave him, and even worse, if she left him behind with a son he would never be able to properly care for. He remembered telling his son after he was born that he would never want him for a father if it weren't for his mother.

While their son celebrated with his friends, he and Raja made love in the place where their son was more than likely conceived. The rush of the waterfall accompanied their cries of ecstasy and love, the rush of water was the rush of his seed flowing through Raja. The wind was Raja's breath when she whispered his name; the earth was the solidity that they each provided for one another. The surrounding trees, the noises of the forest animals, the moon, the stars, the universe were their infinite love. Always.

8/11/07


	10. Touch

**Touch**

Chronology: Tristan is 46. Raja is 36. Ardeth is 20.

Tristan heard his son moving through the woods towards their camp before he saw him. Ardeth was being uncharacteristic in his lack of stealth. Tristan made no comment when Ardeth dropped his two dead hare carelessly on the ground. He was glad Raja was not here, she would be appalled at Ardeth's blatant lack of reverence of his quarry. Normally, he would say a brief Egyptian prayer for the dead after a hunt, but his mouth looked more ready to spew curses than prayers. But Tristan would not pry, whatever was bothering his son – and he knew something was – he would tell him in his own good time.

Two days and Ardeth still could not find the courage to confide in his father about what was grating on his nerves, the reason that had prompted him to suggest this spontaneous trip. He was too embarrassed to tell his mother, and his mind was too jumbled to say anything to Lucan, his closest friend. While his father readied the fire, Ardeth went to fill the iron pot with water, returning, Tristan was already skinning one of the five plump hares he had snagged. Lord Ra and Dyne II were grazing not too far away; the occasional sounds of their hooves brushing against earth indicated their distance. In companionable silence, father and son prepared their dinners and ate. Afterwards, they cleaned their utensils, settled the horses, and relaxed themselves for the night. They sat facing one another on opposite ends of the fire.

The pyre crackled, the flames did their heated dance with the soft evening breeze. It illuminated both faces, setting off the brownish gold of both sets of eyes, and the tattooed cheekbones of their chiseled faces. Ardeth had gotten his tattoos, a coming-of-age mark of his father's Iazyges tribe – when he was fifteen, killing for the first time in an unexpected battle.

Tristan could tell his son was coming to the end of his rope; so he continued to bide his time, peeling slices of his apple with the blade of his dagger.

"Maybe we could stay out here for a couple more days," Ardeth said suddenly.

Tristan's brow rose beneath his tousled bangs. "Is it that bad?"

Ardeth pulled a face, and finally relented. "I don't know, but it is damned awkward, and might become more so later on." His eyes met his father's, clearly distressed. Ardeth began to speak...

_It was clear skies and sun bright. Ardeth walked out of the lake, looking akin to an Egyptian god, water cascading down his toned, lean body, his light brown skin glistening. This small clearing was his own little haven, he relished the quiet. He shook his head, beads of water flinging helter-skelter from his raven locks. He let out a breath of contentment and lay himself out on the blanket he'd spread out. Not long after, his blissful peace was broken by a soft voice._

"_Hello, Ardeth."_

_He knew that voice all too well. "Brother Osiris, Cassandra!" A nude Ardeth bolted up and snatched the blanket to cover his privates, although he suspected the girl had already gotten an eye-full. "What are you doing out here?" And why had he not noticed her? So much for being the venerable scout's son. She must have come upon him while he was in the water and hidden herself. Ardeth grimaced and plodded towards where he had thrown his clothes. Behind a bush he put his breeches on, ready for a more equal encounter._

_Lord Ra appeared, and Ardeth cursed his horse in Arabic. "Some lookout you are."_

_Cassandra smiled at him, unabashedly admiring his body. Ardeth did not like the look in her jade eyes._

"_You're not supposed to be out without your ladies," Ardeth said._

_Cassandra shrugged. "Rhia is busy helping her mother with the laundry." _

_His eyes became suspicious slits; she had never been so bold as to follow him anywhere, although at the fortress, she had caught herself alone in his presence. She had begun to act strangely around him within the past year, giving him glances that he recognized as flirtatious. Ardeth tried to make sure to keep a friendly distance, not wanting to compromise the peace._

"_So what are you doing out here?" he asked again._

"_I wanted to speak with you," Cassandra replied._

_He was instantly wary. "You could not have waited until I returned to the fortress? It isn't appropriate for you to be out here alone with a man."_

"_You're not just any man, Ardeth. My father trusts you." _

_He pursed his lips. "No matter. We'll return now."_

"_No!" Cassandra blurted, walking closer to him. She was breathing faster now; it had taken all her courage to follow him out here, to do what she had so long wanted to do. The words she had rehearsed in her mind more times than she could count faltered on her tongue. _

_Ardeth could feel the heat of her body, the flush of her ivory cheeks indicated her desperation. The light linen dress fluttered in the breeze, along with her long, dark auburn locks, that were usually bound, but not today. _

"_Well, what is it?" he asked, his discomfort making his words sound more laconic than he had intended. _

_Cassandra bit her bottom lip, the lump she swallowed was loud in her ears. And before she thought, and before Ardeth could protest, she undid the broaches at her shoulders, letting her dress fall down her body._

_Ardeth's eyes popped open in surprise. He looked her up and down. Her body was slim and flawless, her aureoles were a dark pink, her nipples were hard buds. Her breasts were small, but firm. She really had not a curve to her body, but her person was firm, skin milky white. The thatch of hair around her privates matched the hair on her head. She was fairly tall, a body almost near that of a woman. All of this he took in the space of a second before turning his back on her. "What in the gods name, Cassandra! Put your dress back on!" He walked to the edge of the lake, back still turned._

_It was silent behind him, until he heard her soft footsteps approach, and then her arms were snaking themselves around his waist like serpents. He stiffened, more uncomfortable than he had ever been in his twenty years. Her soft breasts brushed against his taut back, her equally soft hands caressed his toned abdomen, he stopped her from descending further._

"_I want you, Ardeth," she whispered, her breath whispering against his skin. "For so long I have desired you."_

"_Impossible," he croaked. "You're much too young."_

"_Too young?!" She released him and pulled on his arm to make him face her. She stood confident in her nudity. "Your father was older than you when he married your mother."_

_He jaw clenched. "That is different. My mother is not you." He managed to only stare at her flashing eyes, and no where else. _

_Cassandra embraced him again, the top of her head almost reached his shoulder. Her cheek rubbed against the light dust of hair on his chest. Her hands came around to his chest, and she placed her palms on each of his pectorals, her thumbs touching his own hard nipples. Heat invaded his body and made his skin ultra-sensitive to her touch. He was not attracted her, but damn his body for responding the way it was. _

"_Do you not find me attractive, Ardeth?" she asked, her voice still soft and hushed. Her lips brushed his neck and when he felt her tongue flick out to lick his pulse, his hands firmly grasped her shoulders to hold her at arms length._

"_Listen, here, Cassandra," he began, regaining his wits. "This is inappropriate, and you are much too young for me."_

"_No more than five years!" she exclaimed. _

_The petulant denial in her voice only convinced Ardeth all the more that she was no woman. _

"_Your mother was-"_

"_You are not my mother," he snapped. "This is entirely different. Now put your clothes back on, and I'll escort you back to the fortress." He let her go, went to put his tunic and boots on, folded up the blanket and readied Lord Ra._

_She continued to stand where he had left her, hands on her cocked hips. "I felt your hardness, Ardeth! You cannot deny you want me!"_

_He scoffed. "Just because a man is hard does not mean he wants. If you knew anything about a man's body, you would know that even a mere breeze could stiffen a phallus!" Ardeth did not look at her as he went about tightening the bridle and situating the saddle comfortably on Lord Ra. "Put your damned dress back on."_

_Hot tears veiled her eyes. "By God, I love you!" She snatched her dress off of the ground and ran off into the trees._

"_Cassandra!" Ardeth called after her. "Cassandra!" He didn't go after her..._

Tristan had listened in silence. He noticed Arthur's daughter acting strangely the past few days. Raja had commented on the young girl's down trodden attitude. Now he knew why.

"I should have stopped it sooner," Ardeth was saying.

Tristan made a sound of wry amusement deep in his throat.

"Are you disappointed in me, _Walide_?" He was not afraid of many things, but accruing his father's disappointment was one of them, something he had yet to face.

"No," he said. "You held your own as best you could."

Some of the tension left Ardeth's shoulders.

"But as you said, this could become troublesome," Tristan went on. "I wouldn't worry overmuch, save for she is Arthur's daughter..."

"And stubborn, brash, careless," Ardeth mumbled.

Tristan did not voice his agreement. Cassandra was a nice enough child, but a child she was. Sheltered, as no doubt a princess would be, and a princess eager to free herself of the reins which impeded her from a sense of freedom most girls her age were privy to.

"She thinks herself a woman, like _Walida_ was when you and she... Did you think yourself too old when you married _Walida_?"

Raja had been but a year older than Cassandra when Tristan and she first made love. But Raja had been a woman at the time. "No. Your mother had lived two lifetimes by the time she was Cassandra's age."

Ardeth nodded. "That's what I tried to tell her. But I don't think much of what I said convinced her. She still looks at me..." He sighed heavily. "Fancies herself in love..."

Tristan threw the pit of his apple into the fire. He was proud of his son; he knew all too well that most young men of Ardeth's age would have easily succumbed to a willing maiden in a situation like that. "If this continues to a point, we will have to have a talk with Arthur and Guinevere."

Ardeth grimaced. "I don't want to get Cassandra in trouble. She's a nice enough girl."

"I know."

The younger leaned back against the tree. "I suppose a few more days out here won't cure anything then."

Tristan half-smiled. Yes, he was proud of his and Raja's son. Honest and trustworthy, and never ready to run from his troubles.

TBC...


	11. Spinning Webs

**Spinning Webs**

Cassandra sighed heavily. She was splayed out on her large bed like a drape of limbs. She could feel Rhiannon's hazel eyes on her, if she were to look, Cassie knew she would see her friend's pink lips pressed in a straight line of disappointment, the expression on her heart-shaped face would say: I told you so. That was why Cassandra kept her eyes closed, Ardeth's face was a clear image tattooed behind her eyelids. She had missed him pitifully the two days he had been gone with his father. And not one hour ago, she and Rhia had watched their arrival back to the fortress. Cassandra had stayed out of sight, leaving her free to soak in Ardeth's distant presence. His black shoulder-length hair was matted, his three plaits scraggly and coming undone. He probably smelled of sweat, both his and his steeds. His bright smile had shined when he had greeted his mother. That was one of the many things that Cassandra loved about him; Ardeth's unabashed and open warmth towards his mother.

Not to mention his intelligence. He spoke five languages fluently, and could read and write the ones that had a written language. He was a warrior reminiscent of his father. And he was the most handsome, beautiful man she had ever clapped eyes on. His bronze skin, chiseled face with his exotic tattoos. The way his muscles rippled beneath his flesh.

Rhiannon sighed dramatically. "Do stop thinking about him, Cassie! You are torturing yourself with dreams that will never come true." Rhia had spoken these very words to her friend many times, hoping that one day they would finally get through to her. No such luck yet. She was sitting next to the hearth, her knitting interrupted.

Cassandra's eyes opened, and her head turned towards her friend's. "You don't know that." Always her words. Rhia was a year older than her with auburn hair, and milky white skin. Her father was a soldier and her mother a laundress. For ten years the two girls had been staunch companions, Rhia the more serious one, Cassandra the wild, free spirit.

Rhia's stern glare did not abate. "Your parents would never allow it. He has no land of his own, no title..."

"He has noble blood on his mother's side. And is wealthy in that right, too," Rhiannon was reminded vehemently.

Rhiannon ignored her. "It's a good thing Ardeth does not know of your affections..." Her voice trailed off at Cassandra's odd silence and strange stare. "Does he?"

Cassandra blushed. Remembering how she'd confronted Ardeth so boldly. Knowing Rhia would hound her until she confessed, she found herself telling her everything. Becoming emotional as she spoke, "I stood before him, wearing nothing but the skin I was born in, and my heart on my shoulder."

"Dear God," Rhiannon hissed under her breath.

"My skin was pressed right against his. He was so warm...and firm." Her body became heated, calling up the feel of him. "He resisted me." Rhia's face was as red as hers, but for entirely different reasons, her eyes were as wide as saucers with shock.

"What if he tells your father?!" Rhiannon exclaimed.

Cassandra worried her bottom lip. Trust Rhia to think up the consequences she had not bothered to consider. "He wouldn't do that," she said, not entirely convinced.

"By God, imagine the trouble you would be in! The scandal! And what of Ardeth?" Rhiannon was getting up on her high horse – not without good reason – her voice rising to a hushed pitch of censure. She stood over Cassandra, arms akimbo. "Did you think of the trouble you might have caused him had you been caught?"

Heart beating wildly, Cassandra snapped, "Stop badgering me!" She sat up. "You are supposed to be on my side!"

"I am on your side, you foolish girl! Someone has to remind you of the trouble you brew carelessly and with no thought of anyone but yourself!"

Cassandra knew her friend was speaking logic, but, "I love him Rhiannon."

Her fierce expression softened as she sat next to her. "I know. But he does not feel the same way. Now that you know for certain, you can move passed this with some dignity."

Cassandra swallowed the jagged lump in her throat. She squeezed her eyes shut to keep the tears at bay. "I cannot just stop loving him."

Rhia stifled her sigh. Cassandra was passionate to a fault, stubborn and relentless. She hated not getting her way, and Rhia knew she wanted Ardeth more than anything. She did not doubt her love for him, she believed that Cassandra believed it, but it was more lust than love. She liked the idea of Ardeth; this exotic man whom she thought could offer a reprieve from her stoic life as a princess with an image to maintain. Cassie's amorous endeavor would not cease, she would continue to weave the dangerous web of hers. For now, she might step back and regroup, pretend all was well, but like Cassandra had said, she couldn't stop loving him.

TBC...


	12. Hopelessly Devoted

**Hopelessly Devoted**

Tristan took care to wash himself thoroughly, cleansing all dirt and other unmentionables from his body where they shouldn't be. His form was still lean and toned at the ripe age of forty-six. His chest hair was liberally dusted with gray, as was his beard, and he was seeing gray cropping up around his privates. But that did not indicate any lack of virility, for he was still very much so.

He was glad to be back at the fortress, even after the enjoyable outing with his son. He had been glad to see Raja's health had fared well during his absence. Her pallor bright, eyes clear, energy at the norm. Even after all these years, he never ceased to feel the swell of completeness she gave him; still did not know where or what he would be without her in his life. Tristan got out of the bath, padded himself dry, and donned the freshly laundered clothes Raja had laid out for him.

Raja was sitting in the antechamber of their quarters. The hearth was fully kindled, emitting warmth throughout the rather large room. A decorated rug of Egyptian design tempered the hardness of the stone flooring; tapestries of Raja's doing adorned the walls; there was one long couch and one short one; two cushioned armchairs were placed in front of the hearth with a small table which had a bowl of various fruits and a jug of ale in the center.

Raja smiled when Tristan entered the room. She sat regally on one of the chairs, shining and sharpening her sword, taking good care of it despite its rare use. She wore a light blue dress with sleeves that reached her knuckles. Silk of a darker blue embroidered the garment, her long hair hung free down her back in waves.

He returned her smile, bent down to kiss her on the cheek and run the tips of his fingers through her hair. Franklin the Mouse was idling on the back of the chair.

"Now you smell lovely," Raja said, and he 'hmmphed' good naturedly.

He sat down on the other armchair and submerged his bare feet in the hot water she had set out for him. He could feel the soothing ointments she had mixed in the water working already. It was a ritual she had doted on him since she had come to Britain twenty-eight years ago. Before he had a chance to fully settle in, Nutmeg the Puppy, yipped and jumped on his lap. One of his hind paws hit his groin and Tristan winced when the claws dug in. The puppy's paws rested on his chest, tongue trying to make contact with Tristan's face. Nutmeg and his brother, Pepper, were of a scraggly ilk; their fur an amalgamation of brown, black and white.

"Down, mutt," he censured. Tristan nudged the small dog off his lap and back on the floor. His small tail wagging and wiggling he padded back to the bed he shared with Pepper who was watching his brother's antics with a droll stare that expressed boredom.

"Probably hoping that you will take him out for more hunting lessons," Raja said, sheathing her sword and putting it aside carefully.

"They are coming along well."

Raja sniffed primly. "I take them in and you turn them into hunters."

Tristan chuckled. He leaned towards the table and poured himself a cup of ale that slid down his throat smoothly. He let himself relax while Raja untangled and combed his full head of hair. She told him he could take his feet out of the water so she could massage the cooling balm into his feet. When that was finished he led her to their bedroom to make love. Now, it was almost sundown, both were cuddled up together under the blankets, coming down from the high of their love making.

Raja was on her side, head cradled in the nook of his shoulder. Her soft breasts pressed against his side, one hand lay on his chest, lightly brushing his chest hair. He knew now might be a good time to tell her of Ardeth's encounter with Cassandra; before dinner.

"What is it, Trissy?" she asked, tipping her head up slightly to look at him with gently inquiring eyes.

He smirked wryly at her acuity, then went ahead and told her what Ardeth had said. She did not interrupt, but the expressions on her face shifted faintly now and then. She was silent for a moment or two after he finished.

"She just stripped her clothes off?" she asked, shocked. Raja moved aside and propped her head up on her fist. "Arthur and Guinevere would be appalled."

Tristan snorted.

"I suppose this all explains her restless behavior these past few days. Guinevere was just commenting on it." She ran her fingers through her hair. "Well, Ardeth handled it elegantly, nonetheless."

Tristan nodded in agreement. "We agreed not to say anything to her parents unless it continued."

Raja bit her bottom lip. "Very well. Perhaps this will be a passing fancy." The expression on her face said that she was not convinced of her words. Tristan cocked an eyebrow dubiously, and she chuckled.

"She thinks herself in love."

They both got out of bed and washed up for dinner. Tristan took a moment to take a full, appreciative glance at her body. Her breasts were still firm and high, her abdomen flat, thighs strong from horseback riding. Raja had yet to find a gray hair, but perhaps the gods were letting her stark-white streak of hair make up for the lack of them. Time had treated her facial features well. Only tiny wrinkles, barely noticeably, were etched at the corner of her eyes.

As they were heading out of their chambers, she said, "I suppose one should not underestimate a young girl in love."

TBC...


	13. Love's Charade

**Love's Charade**

Guinevere was enjoying the evening revelry. Everyone seemed to be in good spirits, her husband was smiling, some of the tension gone from his shoulders and his eyes glittered. Arthur had aged gracefully despite the harsh years. He was still fit and hearty, his hair was peppered with gray, and there were more wrinkles at the corners of his eyes and around his mouth. She herself had also been treated nicely by Time. She still had her toned girlish figure, her hips slightly wider after the birth of her daughter. This night, her daughter Cassandra, was merry, which had not been the case lately. She was growing up, not quite a woman, but Guinevere knew that her daughter was impatient to become one. Cassandra reminded Guinevere of herself at that age. Headstrong, eager to take the world on, eager to prove to everyone that she was tough, and could do anything as well as any man.

"She looks happy this evening," Arthur said.

Guinevere smiled and nodded. "Ah, yes, but how long shall it last?"

Arthur chuckled. "She is young and temperamental. There is no telling." Arthur put on a mock expression of contemplation. "I find the weather less capricious." King and Queen laughed.

Ardeth avoided Cassandra's presence at the table with his usual aplomb; though, he could feel the heated pressure of her jade eyes upon him. He wished she would be more circumspect lest someone – like her mother and father - notice the person of her rapt attentions. Ardeth was sitting next to his mother and she patted him on the hand and said in Arabic, "You are handling this well, Ardeth."

So Father had already told her, he thought. Ardeth couldn't help but blush a little.

When the evening's food supply began to wane, people started to excuse themselves to return home or take drinks at the tavern. Lucan walked beside a buoyant Ardeth on their way to the tavern. Many a woman's eye took notice of both of them as they entered the crowded building. They took a seat with some fellow soldiers and ordered cool, frothy beer.

Two women were quick to pounce upon them. Lorelei, a healthy brunette who was keen on Ardeth – though artfully subtle in her perusal - sidled up close to him. Her chestnut hair was wavy and held back with a clip. Her dress was clean, but simple with a low-cut neckline, revealing the smooth skin of her modest cleavage. Ardeth grinned at her, showing off straight, white teeth.

Lucan discreetly rolled his blue eyes at the ensuing game of flirtation. He tuned it out while trying to be accordingly polite to the woman who had latched herself onto him. He wasn't quite the conversationalist as his friend, but among the ladies he was known as a gentleman. Lucan was momentarily distracted by a head of shiny auburn hair among the patrons. He knew that hair as if it were his own. His heart rate increased and he felt his body flush with heat just looking at her. What was she doing in here this time of evening? he wondered. The object of his hidden desire gazed around the room before falling and landing in his direction. Did she notice him? His hope dwindled as he followed her line of sight which locked on Ardeth. His heart sunk, and his eyes dropped to his half-empty cup. When he looked back he saw her retreating from the tavern.

--

"Did you see him?" Cassandra asked the second the door to her chambers opened. She'd been waiting with snappy nerves for a quarter of an hour as Rhiannon did a quick recognizance of the tavern.

Rhia's face was placid, lips taut with disapproval at the mission she'd been dispatched on. She had not wanted to follow Ardeth to the tavern to see if he was flirting with a wench. Of course he was! That was what she had tried to tell Cassie, naturally her words falling upon deaf ears. But, no, her friend needed visual confirmation. "Yes, I saw him," she answered.

"And?" Cassie prompted impatiently.

Rhia put her fists on her hips. "Did you think I would actually come back and tell you truthfully that he was sitting alone in a corner pining away for you?" She shook her head at her friend's folly. Good God, was she ever weary of this charade. Rhia paid no attention to Cassie's now desultory mood. Her mind had wandered to the other man she had searched for. How she longed for his beautiful blue eyes to gaze at her with longing. But he had barely noticed her.

"Where are you going?" Rhia asked when Cassandra got off of the bed and put on her cloak.

"I need air."

The two girls went to the roof of the keep where three other young ladies already occupied one corner. They turned when they heard the new arrivals. One, Grace, smiled and waved them over, quickly making a motion for them to be quiet. The five girls were hidden in the shadows, but hunkered down, facing a part of the parapets where two people stood.

Freya moved over so Cassie and Rhia could see better.

"This is all rather intrusive," Wellsie whispered with faint disdain.

Freya snorted inelegantly. "Then why are you still here? Admit it, Well, you find them just as fascinating as the rest of us."

Freya, Grace and Wellsie were from two of the wealthier families that occupied the villa-farms around the fortress. Freya and Wellsie were sisters, Freya younger by two years. And they were enraptured by Tristan and Raja. Their "story" was well known, but had become fantastical over the years. Mostly the time when Raja had been captured by the Saxons fourteen years ago. Stolen by "thousands" of Saxons. Tristan had mounted his steed with nothing but his armor, bow and arrow, and deadly sword. He rode across all of Britannia, searching for his lady love, until coming upon the Saxons and slaughtering them all, saving Raja from their evilness.

Of course, the real happenings were not so easily told, the truth enough to give someone nightmares.

"It is so romantic," Freya said wistfully.

The others concurred with breathy sighs of their own. It was spoken among them how wonderful it would be to have a man treat them like Tristan treated Raja.

"He's not conventionally handsome," Wellsie commented.

Rhia rolled her eyes. The same observations were always voiced; some shallow, some offhand. Although Rhia did agree that Tristan was not "conventionally" handsome, and some might wonder how he and Raja had ever came to be. She was of noble blood, would she not have been better suited for someone of her own class? A man with a formal education, riches and land? Such were the idle thoughts.

Rhiannon had a basic idea of their history. Raja had come from Egypt with her uncle when she was eight, a little girl capturing the hearts of all the knights. Rhia thought the beginnings of their love was the most interesting, but no one else ever focused on that. Maybe one day Rhia would get up the guts to ask Raja about it.

"Well, they certainly produced a son that is more breath-taking than Adonis!" Freya said.

Cassie and Rhia's eyes met furtively.

"I would love to get Ardeth in a dark corner..." Grace said coyly, and Wellsie gasped at her lewdness.

"Bite your tongue, Grace!" Wellsie chastised.

"Get off your high horse," Grace retorted. "Can you honestly say that you've never imagined a flirtation with Ardeth?"

Even in the relative darkness they knew Wellsie was blushing indignantly.

Cassandra was tempted to tell them that she had seen Ardeth in his most natural state. The gloriousness of the structure of his body. She didn't like them musing about possible clandestine flirtations with Ardeth. By God, his rejection had only kindled her desire, and she was convinced that he pined for her too, as evidenced by his erection.

"Do you think he'll marry soon?" Freya asked. Then she smirked at the girls, "Think me too young for him?"

"Yes," Rhia replied. "And I doubt he is thinking about marriage. He's only twenty."

"Nevertheless..." Grace continued.

--

"I think we have an audience," Raja said, half-smiling.

Tristan noticed the forms crouching in a huddle on the keep's roof. It was not the first time the nosy girls had sat up there to gossip. He knew their names, and what families they belonged to. Why they were so interested in he and Raja, he did not know. Tristan never claimed to know the minds of young girls. It seemed an over-complicated terrain to ever venture in. He would stick to the forests.

Raja and Tristan liked to come to the parapets up on the Wall after dinner, provided it wasn't too cold. They were wrapped in one another's arms, Raja's around his waist under his cloak; his around her back, fingers running through her hair.

Her hand reached up to caress his cheek. "They listen to all those stories."

Tristan snorted, then saw two more girls join the other three. Cassandra and Rhiannon mostly likely, he figured. He'd seen Rhiannon walking towards the keep from the direction of the tavern not too long ago. "Silly girls. Nothing better to do than spy upon others."

Raja put her forehead on his chest, muffling her soft laughter. A breeze passed and she shivered.

"It's getting late," he said. "And I plan to do things to you this night that are for no eyes but our own." His mouth, which curved up in a sly grin, kissed her lightly on the lips. Then he scooped her up in his arms, carrying her back to their chambers.

TBC...


	14. Misunderstandings

**Misunderstandings**

Ardeth awoke to a warm, plush body cozied up next to his; voluptuous breasts pressed against the side of his chest; a small, feminine hand lay over his heart, a thigh across his waist. They had left the tavern early for Lorelei's abode and spent a rather active night in one another's arms, which was why Ardeth was waking up in her modest dwelling. Lorelei was a laundress and occasional seamstress; a genuinely nice woman who loved to laugh, and generous in bed. Ardeth was careful not to disturb her as he got out of bed. He felt the loss of her body heat as he pulled away. The floor was cold and he searched for his socks which weren't anywhere near each other.

A giggle halted his search. He turned to a now awake Lorelei who was holding the rogue sock in her hand. He smirked and took it from her, then went about dressing himself, well aware that she was watching without shame.

"Are you sure you do not want to stay?" she asked. Her hair was mussed and she was wrapped in the rumpled sheets like a treat not fully unwrapped.

Ardeth tucked her soft hair behind her hear. "I can't. I'm helping my mother with birdhouses today." To his surprise, she didn't laugh, but only smiled as if such an activity sounded pleasant. "You're not going to tease me?" he put his tunic on, then scanned the room for his jerkin.

"No," she said. "I think it is lovely that you spend time with your mother." There was a note of wistfulness in her voice.

He belted his jerkin and slipped his boots on. "Where is your mother?"

"She died three years ago."

A genuine express of sympathy crossed his face. "That's awful." He couldn't imagine losing his mother or father.

Lorelei shrugged. "She had a hard life, and is at peace now." Ardeth squeezed her hand and her heart thudded.

By now, the other occupants of the fortress were up and out, beginning their days, the sounds of wakefulness reaching through the thin walls of her quarters.

"I better not keep my mother waiting," he said.

Lorelei nodded, taken aback, but very pleased when he gave her a kiss goodbye.

Ardeth left feeling well. The bright sun hit his face, and he had to adjust his eyes after being accustomed to the dimness of Lorelei's room. He nodded good mornings to familiar faces as he passed. His father was just descending the stairs inside of the keep as Ardeth entered the building. Tristan smirked at his son knowingly.

"Sleep well?" he asked.

Ardeth smiled. "You could say that."

"Hmm." At least his son was choosing wenches a bit more carefully now. Over the years there had been plentiful accusations of paternity on Ardeth from money-grubbing chits or women desperate for marriage to a strapping man of noble blood.

"Is Walida awake?"

"She was just stirring when I left."

"I'm helping her with birdhouses today."

Tristan nodded. "She is looking forward to it."

"Indeed, I am!" Raja's voice was like a fresh spring morning as she walked gracefully down the hallway. She wore an outfit of blues that complemented her raven hair and silver eyes that were sparkling this morning from a night of good rest. Her tunic was a lighter blue than her hose, jerkin, and boots. Her eyes noticed the bruise on her son's neck. "Oh, love-" But her words of concern were truncated when she realized what the "bruise" was. "Mmm-hmm," she hummed with a mother's intuition.

Ardeth flushed and fidgeted with the collar of his jerkin to hide the love-bite she had already seen. Luckily, his father saved him from further inquiry. Raja was just about to fuss with Ardeth's rumpled hair when Tristan pulled her to him by the waist to shuffle her away. Raja pursed her lips together indignantly but let it slide. She gave Ardeth a kiss on the cheek and told him to eat a good breakfast.

Ardeth hurried up to his room for a quick wash and change of clothes.

"Hello, Ezra!" he greeted upon seeing Ezra the Mouse on his made bed. He picked up the small creature and gave him a petting on the head with the pad of his forefinger. Ezra twitched his whiskers in response. It didn't take long for him to get ready, and soon he was heading towards the tavern, Ezra in tow who rode on his shoulder. The tavern wasn't too crowded, most of the morning rush already waning. He spotted Lucan and took a seat across from him, immediately taken notice of his friend's wan features and bloodshot eyes. Lucan gave Ardeth a half-hearted smile in greeting. Ardeth didn't question him, he knew Lucan would get to it in his own time.

He ordered and they ate in silence until it was disturbed by Ardeth's cousin, Samara, plopping down next to him with her usually exuberance.

"What is so exciting at this hour?" Ardeth asked.

He was close to both of his twin cousins, the other being Miribelle, or Miri, for short.

"Boys, of course," Miribelle interjected dryly, taking a seat next to Lucan.

Samara stuck her tongue out at her, who rolled her eyes. They were essentially identical, but their personalities differed like night and day. Samara loved jewelry, makeup, and clothes. She flirted shamelessly with the men, much to her parents' chagrin. Mara always took great care with her appearance, hair in place, clothes tailored, fabric bright. She disliked dirt and work, and never took to archery or swordplay. She loved horses but did not like cleaning up after them. But Lancelot told her if she was going to have a horse of her own then it was her responsibility to care for it.

Miribelle took to all the things her sister had not. Swordplay, archery, dagger throwing, real horse-back riding as she liked to call it. She wore her clothes simple. Hose, tunic, jerkin, a dagger strapped to her belt. She wore no makeup or baubles, and her dark curly hair was always plaited and fell mid-back. And to her father's relief, she wasn't yet into courting.

"Ardeth," Mara began, and her cousin knew that she was about to ask for a favor.

"She wants you to be her chaperon in the tavern tonight," Miribelle finished.

It was a constant quarrel between Mara and her parents about the refusal to let her socialize in the tavern at night. The men were too old for her, and when they were in their cups, it was no place for a young girl to be. But when she had turned sixteen, they reluctantly consented that she could patronize the tavern, but only with a trusted chaperon – Ardeth. But he was also protective of his cousins, more like a brother to them really. Ardeth was wary of any man ogling either of the girls, and he worried that Samara would get herself into trouble without a watchful eye.

"Please?" Mara entreated in her sweetest voice.

He gave her a droll stare, and Ezra took that lull in conversation to peek out of Ardeth's jerkin, causing Samara to squeal and shuffle down the bench. Miribelle laughed.

"Ezra," Miri said, gently taking the mouse from her cousin's shoulder.

Ardeth noticed that Lucan was not sharing their revelry. His blue eyes kept darting to the door and back to his plate.

"Not tonight," Ardeth answered. "My mother and I have a chess game in progress." Had he named anyone else, Mara would have whined and tried to cajole him into changing his mind.

Instead, she sighed, but said, "Tomorrow?"

"Fine," he conceded, wincing at the high pitched exclamation of excitement. Samara thanked him profusely, before bouncing off, presumably to tell her parents and brag to her friends. Miribelle followed her, Ezra with her, saying to Ardeth that she would take good care of him.

With his cousins gone, Ardeth turned his attention to Lucan. "Bad night?" he ventured easily.

Bad night, Lucan thought caustically. He had a bit of a headache from the one-too-many servings of ale he'd consumed after Ardeth had left with his lady friend. After Rhiannon had entered the tavern to observe Ardeth. His spirits low, along with his sense, he had followed the woman who'd been flirting with him all night to her quarters. He vaguely remembered drunken fumbling and the woman atop him before all his clothes were off. He was disgusted with himself, for he never did such things. And to his shame, he couldn't recall her name. And worse, he had left her room while she had still been asleep, sneaking away like a thief in the night.

A loud laugh bounded through the building from the throat of a woman entered the tavern. Ardeth looked to see who it was, recognizing the woman's face, but unknowing of her name. But next to her was Rhiannon, Cassandra's closest friend. Ardeth wondered if Cassandra had told Rhia about her attempt to seduce him in the woods. Probably so, he figured, he didn't think Cassandra would be able to keep something like that to herself. But something else chased those thoughts from his mind, the expression on Lucan's face, the tender want in his blue eyes directed at Rhiannon. Things began to connect in Ardeth's mind. He had seen Rhia come into the tavern last night; saw her look at him and then Lucan, her eyes echoing the very same silent yearning that was now in Lucan's.

"You should talk to her," Ardeth said.

Lucan blinked. "What?"

"You should talk to her," Ardeth repeated, this time with a smirk that said Lucan's laconic attitude wasn't fooling him.

"Who?" Lucan asked, still trying to remain indifferent.

"Don't pretend you do not know who I'm talking about."

Lucan still remained quiet; he didn't want to admit to himself that he was irrationally angry with Ardeth for garnering Rhiannon's attention. "Why would she welcome conversation with me?" he blurted acidly.

Ardeth was a little stung from his friend's tone, but tried not to take it personally. "I think she would. She came in here last night."

"I know."

"Then you saw her look at you." Ardeth thought his words would bring, at the lease, surprised pleasure but Lucan's pupils contracted and his lips curled with scornful dubiety.

"Don't patronize me, Ardeth," he said.

"You think I would make this up?"

"I saw her. I saw her look at _you_."

It hit Ardeth like a blow to the gut. Gods, Lucan was angry with him because he thought Rhiannon fancied him, though Ardeth suspected the girl had only come into the tavern at Cassandra's behest. It bothered him greatly that a woman was the cause of friction between him and Lucan. They had never competed for a woman; if one knew the other was interested in a certain woman, then she was off limits. Well, Ardeth damned well wasn't going to let this misunderstanding pit them against each other.

"You're right," Ardeth conceded. "She did look at me, but then I clearly saw her _gaze_ at _you_." Before Lucan could speak, he said, "And I'm fairly certain Rhia only wanted to spot me because she was asked to."

That made the ire fade from Lucan's eyes, only for confusion to replace it. "By who?"

"I'll explain later, but listen, I saw Rhia look at you, very much like you were looking at her a few minutes ago. And I wouldn't be telling you this unless I was sure."

He didn't want to believe him, but he knew his friend wouldn't buoy him with false hopes. So, if Rhiannon had looked at Lucan, it must have been after he had looked away. Damn. Damn! And now he felt terrible for taking his misery out on Ardeth. He groaned low, rubbing his temples to ease the pounding in his head.

"You bedded that woman, didn't you?" Ardeth mused, amused and sympathetic.

"Gods, Ardeth, I don't even remember her name!" His forehead fell into his hands. "I left before the sun came up."

Ardeth chuckled. "Well, I can't help you with that, but her name is Moira if that makes you feel any better."

"A little." Lucan sighed. "I'm sorry for being ill-tempered."

He shrugged. "I understand."

Lucan discreetly scanned the room for Rhiannon, but she had gone in the back of the tavern with her lady companion. He hoped she wasn't looking for work in here; he didn't like the idea of Rhia being harassed by patrons. "So, who asked her to go to the tavern?"

Ardeth winced. "Come on, I'll explain on the way to the stables." He put some coin on the table and then he told Lucan about Cassandra, his blue eyes widening as Ardeth went on.

"Do your parents know?" he asked.

Ardeth nodded. "They both understood."

Lucan wouldn't have expected anything less from Tristan and Raja. But he was shocked by Ardeth's tale. He didn't know Cassandra that well, and didn't like judging someone before getting to know them, but her actions were not gaining a very favorable opinion. Then it occurred to him. "And she's dragging Rhiannon into this! Doesn't Cassandra know that it is dangerous for a woman to walk alone at night around the area of the tavern? Yet, she sends Rhia there!"

It was always something to witness Lucan get worked up because he was normally so even-tempered. His lips were pursed tightly and he was shaking his head as he thought about how wrong the situation was. Before they could speak more, they'd reached the stables where it wasn't the best thing to discuss personal matters.

Raja was already here, saddling Odin the Second. Horus the Second was perched nearby. She paused to greet them. Ardeth's horse, Lord Ra, snorted and immediately went for his rider's head when he was within range. Thor, Lucan's mount, was equally pleased to see his human. Ardeth prepared Lord Ra for his outing.

"Oh, Lucan are you ill?" Raja worried, observing his bloodshot eyes and wan pallor.

Lucan grinned sheepishly when Raja inspected his face and checked for fever.

"Ah," she said with knowing sympathy. It wasn't like Lucan to get deep into his cups. "Your father is in the healing room, I'm sure he has something for your ailment."

Lucan nodded. He certainly needed to do that before his own mother saw him. Dagonet's wife, Anna, had accepted him into her arms and treated him as if she had borne him herself. The first time he'd been aching from a drunken binge she had tsk-tsked from one end of Britain to another and had not stopped fussing over him until his headache was gone. Then she would go on about her father who had ailed from drinking too much and his father before that.

Not too long later, Raja and Ardeth were on their way as Lucan went to see his father.

TBC....


End file.
